On Trojan Shores
by Lyric Kelly
Summary: Warrior Achilles suddenly finds himself questioning his destiny when a Trojan girl is found in the temple of Apollo. Who is she, and why does he find himself becoming strangely attached to her? AchillesOC
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my creative genius (ok, my bizzare mental workings) and a few characters. Homer originally owns the story; Wolfgang Peterson just copied the idea. None of the events or characters are based upon anyone living or dead. . . Unless there really was an Achilles, Homer, Priam, etc.

* * *

History remembers heroes. It remembers King Arthur and Beowulf and Romulus founder of Rome. History becomes legend, legend becomes myth, and myth becomes meaningless whispers covered in grime at the back of libraries while the new generation chooses electronic amusements. Men's bones turn to dust, and names shouted by crowds in victory become whispers over burning fires.

History remembers wars. It remembers the taking of the Sabian women, the Carthaginian war, the conquering of Babylon.

History remembers monsters. It remembers Medusa, with her many snakes and turning men into stone; dragons, that breathed fire and flew over the world like a bejeweled mountain of majestic muscle; even goblins that used trickery and magic to outwit mere men and other fanciful creatures that fell in their path.

What history rarely remembers is the truth. Could mere men accomplish tasks like Theseus with the Minotaur? Did any real deity bless Aeneas on journey to find the future-greatest Empire the world will ever see? Who helped these great men?

Records say that men did everything alone. Women sat at home while the men worked or fought, according to history. Women let themselves be vulnerable and assets to victories, say historians.

But does history tell the genuine facts? What if they were lied to?

History was written on the sands of shores. History made men into lions.

But the women's stories were never told…

* * *

Author's Note: This is a story idea I've been working on for a while. So, if you like/dislike it, review. Just constructive criticism, though, please. If you have nothing but spiteful comments, they will be ignored politely. 


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Same as before, I own nothing. Don't sue me, I'm broke.

* * *

_You make me feel so young  
You make me feel so spring has sprung  
_

The sun rose to greet Troy, letting Apollo's beams radiate towards his favored city. King Priam's old eyes penetrated the cloudless blue above him before he heaved a sigh. The empty space at his right side reminded him of his beloved Hecuba, whose ashes had long since blown away.

_How you would love this morning, my darling_. His tired eyes closed for a moment. _We would rise together and greet the morning with so much joy_…

"Father?" He started at the sound of a female voice. "Father, have you been up all night?"

Priam's sadness disappeared into a genuine smile. "Petra, my heart," he chuckled as he turned from the balcony to see his youngest standing in the doorway to his apartments. "I only longed for your companionship."

She shook her dark head, but the bright honey-brown eyes twinkled at him.

_And every time I see you grin  
I'm such a happy individual_

"Apollo shines upon us today," Priam added, holding out a hand for her. She joined him quickly, stretching up on her toes to brush a kiss on the weathered cheek of her parent. "He blesses your brothers' journey home."

Indeed, the day already promised to be fair and lovely, she realized as she joined her father at his previous position; the sea on the horizon gleamed a brilliant blue, only to be topped by the clear skies above. A gentle breeze kept the heat from becoming oppressive.

_The moment that you speak  
I want to go and play hide-and-seek_

"Hector and Paris should be joining us by this afternoon." Priam guessed the direction of his daughter's thoughts and longing for her brothers.

Shrugging, Petra fingered the choker at her throat. It had been brought back to her by Hector, when she had still been in the palace nursery, from Carthage. The shining blue stone at the end of the leather thong was almost worn through from her thumb's constant rubbing.

"It's perfectly natural for you to miss them, love," Priam assured her, pressing her small hand in his.

Petra smiled at him before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "What were you thinking before?" she asked, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

_I want to go and bounce the moon  
Just like a toy balloon_

"Oh, about previous mornings, with your mother." Priam's casual tone did not deceive her. She bit her lip thoughtfully.

"I barely remember her, Father," she confessed softly.

"No wonder, child; you were barely five when she died." Letting out another sigh, Priam shook his head. "You are so much like her, however." That made Petra smile. "Especially when you get yourself into mischief."

"I never get myself into mischief!" she immediately denied. "Paris always does, and then I get into trouble!"

Priam chuckled. "Ah, but you go along with him anyway. At least you used to."

"Paris is always gone now," she reminded him.

"So he is." The playful air dropped abruptly. Both father and sister hated the long absences from their loved ones, Petra especially. Only recently had Paris started joining his older brother on these expeditions for Troy.

_You and I are just like a couple of tots  
Running across the meadow  
Picking up lots of forget-me-nots  
_

The two sat in silence, watching the sun rise higher and higher in the sky. "Andromache will want me to watch the baby while she does her morning prayers," Petra finally said, reluctant to leave her father.

Priam's face reflected her disappointment at keeping their visit so brief. "Perhaps," he suggested, "when Hector is rested tonight, I can review the civil tactics with him and you, after dinner?" When she beamed at him, Priam laughed. "Why Zeus did not deem you to be a boy…" he mused aloud.

"Surprise, Father, is the essence of attack, and nobody suspects girls," she retorted, cheekily grinning at him.

Tousling his daughter's thick dark hair, Priam returned her expression. "Go help your sister," he said softly, watching as she ran from the room. His content expression yet again slid away.

_You make me feel so young  
You make me feel there are songs to be sung  
Bells to be rung, and a wonderful fling to be flung  
_

Despite his joy at his daughter's mental abilities and talents, Priam knew that logically she only had one value to Troy: to make a strong political alliance through marriage.

Before leaving for Sparta, Hector strongly balked at the idea of taking Petra for the possibility of an offer to Agamemnon. Thankfully Menelaus had already married, but the council of Troy now acted anxious to marry off their princess. She had celebrated her eighteenth birthday that year; she would soon be too old for anyone decent enough to make a good alliance.

The railing at Priam's hand squeaked a protest at the sudden tight grip of the king. Priam would die before forcing his child into nuptials with a complete stranger, or one she opposed to. But the council saw her as a commodity, not a daughter.

Priam slumped onto the cool stone, suddenly exhausted. "Apollo," he whispered hoarsely, "What can I do?"

_And even when I'm old and gray  
I'm gonna feel the way I do today  
'Cause you make me feel so young  
_

Only certain men would make her happy in marriage. Her brothers and father had "spoiled" her, letting her have freedom and a voice in their home, teaching her how to ride and do some swordplay. Recently they limited her on account of decorum, and it killed Priam to see the caged look in his daughter's eyes.

She needed a strong but just man, who would make her his equal partner in life, and would not bow to her every whim as Priam and Paris did.

"Your majesty?" Priam glanced over his shoulder, to see a page standing in the doorway. "The high priest of Apollo wishes to speak with you."

"Show him in."

Letting his thoughts be tucked away, Priam made a note to himself to speak to Hector about Petra.

_And even when I'm old and grey  
I'm gonna fell the way I do today  
Cause you make me feel so young

* * *

_

**The Royal Sanctuary**

Andromache bowed her head once more before rising from her position in front of Apollo's statue. She could hear her son's happy gurgling in the other room, along with Petra's return coo.

Smiling to herself, Andromache joined the pair on the sun-filled veranda. "He misses spending time with you."

She leaned against one of the large pots of flowers, tilting her head and watching her son's antics with joyful eyes. He loved his aunt and Andromache knew Petra returned the sentiment.

Petra shook her head at Astyanax, making faces that caused her nephew to shriek with joy. "I have been doing some thinking," she admitted. She held out a hand and let Astyanax's own curl around her slim fingers.

"On what subject?"

"My marriage." Andromache let out a surprised cough, her eyes wide with shock. But Petra continued as if no interruption had occurred. "I know Father worries about it."

"Petra…" Andromache paused, signaling for her son's nurse. After sending him off to be bathed, the future queen returned her attention to her sister-in-law. "Your father and brothers would _never_ consent to an arranged marriage for you. You know this, take comfort in it."

"Yes." Petra frowned, looking down at her slippers. "But the council doesn't understand. They make things harder for Father."

"They would if you were married anyway."

"But they're right, Andra!" Petra's intense stare penetrated Andromache, unnerving her. "I'm eighteen, and not yet married. As royalty, I cannot afford that luxury."

Sighing, Andromache shifted to allow less pressure on her hip. "And you think you'll be happy? Married to a stranger?"

"You were."

Andromache blushed at that, aware of the blissful memories. "Yes, and I am indeed happy." Her expression kept somber. "But you are not me; and few men have you brother's depth of character or morality.

"I was blessed to be joined to Hector." Andromache's face softened. "He is unlike any man I have ever known. I wish my happiness on you, Pet." Her hand reached out to Petra's and squeezed gently. "Don't be hasty to please everyone else at the expense of your lifelong happiness."

Biting her lip thoughtfully, Petra slowly spoke. "I wish to visit Apollo's temple sometime soon, to find a solution that will make Father and my brother's happy. Maybe even one that will be better for me…"

Knowing her sister-in-law, Andromache did not push the issue but stood and helped Petra up, squeezing her hand gently. "We just want you happy," she reminded Petra, her other hand caressing her friend's cheek. "You were my first friend here. I want only the best for you."

"I know." Petra then gave Andromache a wicked grin. "I'll beat you at checkers, if you want." The challenge was always a provoking argument between them, and Petra knew Andromache's response before spoken.

"Oh, really?" Andromache arched an eyebrow.

Petra poked her sister-in-law before taking off down the hallway, laughing at Andromache's shouted threats of retribution as she chased Petra down the corridors.

Laughter floated through the palace and greeted the ears of the guards protecting the royal family.

Finally, Andromache cornered Petra in the courtyard, tackling the girl and tickling her sides mercilessly. Shrieking, Petra tried to retaliate with little success.

"Wait… until… I tell… Hector… on you!" she gasped and jerked away.

"Your threats, my dear, are idle at the moment," Andromache reminded her, letting out her own cry of surprise when Petra slipped away and collapsed with exhaustion.

Both giggled and lay on the warm ground, content.

"Oh, Andra," Petra sighed, letting her eyes settle on the cloudless sky, "how I miss this."

Andromache, on her feet and dusting herself off, frowned with confusion.

"Being childlike," Petra clarified. "There's so little happiness lately."

"Well, your brothers bring back peace from Sparta. Maybe now we can be happy again." Petra could only inwardly disagree with Andromache's naïve optimism. Andromache saw the world in simple terms of good and evil; she believed all could end well.

Despite her original dislike of an arranged marriage, Andromache of Thebes chose to greet her new life with delightful hopes. She did not have the memory of watching a beloved mother die before anything else could form in her mind. She only recently gained Petra's habit of constant pleads at Apollo's feet for the safety of her loved ones. She did not have Petra's longing for freedom.

"And perhaps Paris has brought back some surprises from Sparta!" Andromache added, knowing that thought would at least distract the uninterested teenager.

It worked. Petra's eyes lit up. "Maybe he brought some of their spears back! They say Sparta has a new type that can be throw twice as-"

"And cloth and gems and perfumes," Andromache added dreamily.

Shaking her head, Petra moved on. True, she enjoyed pretty trinkets, but she mostly enjoyed the ones Hector hand-selected for her. He understood his sister's passions and tastes, choosing accordingly.

The last gift, yards of purple silk, lay on her bed waiting for the first sight of the Trojan vessels. He had ordered it fashioned into a simple yet elegant gown for her, and now she could show him the extent of his present, and her enjoyment of it.

Despite her husband's close relationship with Petra, Andromache felt no jealousy. Hector sometimes was the only one who understood the young princess and treated her like his equal, rather than a pretty doll like Paris and Priam. Besides, the two always included Andromache.

The sound of a horn interrupted both women's thoughts. Petra stood and ran to the edge of the balcony, scanning the sea. Her smile answered Andromache before her voice.

"They're here!"

Inside, the palace burst into action. Both princesses fought their way to their respective rooms, pushing aside maids and finally reaching their sanctums, where each quickly began her own personal preparations for the return of the two Trojan princes.

Petra quickly washed the dirt and grime from her body, ignoring the cold water splashing against her skin before drying off and letting her waist-length hair fall down her back.

Her maid soon joined her, hurrying the process. Ten minutes before her brothers entered the city gates, Petra joined her father and Andromache.

Andromache's eyes belied her calm exterior; they sparkled with contained excitement and joy, but she only gave a demure nod to Petra before returning her attention to the door expectantly.

From the corner of her eye, Petra saw her cousin Briseis, adjusting the priestess garland on her head, and smiled. Briseis shared some of Petra's loathing for court protocol, but she had chosen Apollo over the quiet of the palace. Petra knew she regrettably could not follow her cousin's decisions, for too many princesses in the temple would make the head priest believe he had the edge on convincing Priam of his choices—surely Apollo would favor him with more signs if Troy gave two of her royals to him.

Briseis caught Petra's eye and nodded with solemnity in greeting. Petra wrinkled her nose before she winked back, causing Briseis to giggle and earn a glare from a nearby courtier. Before the priestess could retaliate in some form, the trumpets sounded.

Each person ceased their fidgeting and watched their king for his signal. Andromache paused only to turn and adjust her son's blankets while he nestled in a nursemaid's arms.

The minutes passed slowly. After waiting and waiting, Petra joined her father at the entryway to the palace and stepped forward.

Her smile brightened considerably when Hector stepped into view. Before she could say anything, however, she saw Paris behind him… and Paris' companion.

_Bright golden hair, delicate features, pale skin… who are you_? Petra searched her mind for some explanation. _Paris, what have you done now_?

Petra's involuntary twitch of hand on her father's arm caused Priam to pause, worried, towards his daughter. When he saw her reaction and direction of gaze, he murmured to her, "Do not panic yet. We need to hear Paris' explanation before serving judgment."

Everything in Petra wanted to shake her head in disagreement, but she refrained, seeing the wisdom in his words. "It will have to be a good one," she could not help from mumbling.

They stepped towards Hector, pausing when sunlight touched their faces. Priam's kind face crinkled into a pleased grin. "My son."

"Father," the prince greeted his parent first, his warm smile equally inviting as he embraced Priam tightly. He kissed Priam's cheeks and accepted the firm grip at his shoulders in response graciously.

Hector drew his attention from his father to his sister, beaming. "And who is this daring goddess I see before me?" He bestowed a kiss on her forehead. "You're becoming quite the young lady, Petra."

Petra only nodded back but she twinkled her eyes at him. "Who are you, and what have you done to my brother of plain speech?"

He chuckled at that. "Just as sharp-witted as when I left." He then noticed her dress, smirking when she gave a little curtsy. "I'm glad you like the material." But his expression grew somber as Paris stepped forward.

"Paris." Priam pretended to give his son a scolding look before opening his arms to his youngest boy. He kissed both sides of Paris' temple and grinned affectionately. The courtyard fell into abrupt silence when the youngest prince was greeted. Paris, ignoring it, looked into his father's eyes before returning them to his guest, to usher her to him.

"Father," he spoke clearly. "This is Helen."

Immediately, whispers erupted through the crowd. Even Priam could not hold back his shocked comment.

"Helen? Helen of Sparta?" he looked to Hector for confirmation.

"Helen of Troy," Paris corrected him.

Petra closed her eyes, inwardly cursing her brother to Hades' very presence. But Priam covered this well, gallantly letting Helen step forward. "I've heard rumors of your beauty," he commented, giving her the greeting of a daughter; "For once the gossips were right."

Helen's hunted look disappeared from her eyes, and she gave the king a grateful smile. Priam returned it before turning to his daughter.

Despite her growing resolutions against Helen, Petra felt herself melting. Helen reminded her of Andromache, only Helen willingly left for Paris if Petra was judging correctly.

She stepped forward, offering a hand. "I always wanted a sister," she spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, "and now Apollo has blessed me with two." She clasped Helen's hand, giving the Greek woman an encouraging smile.

Behind Helen, Paris beamed at his sister's smooth handling of the situation. Helen's hand griped Petra's back, and Petra saw her tears of relief.

Impulsively, Petra pulled Helen to her side and linked arms. "Ignore them," Petra said in an undertone, smiling. "You are a princess of Troy now. You needn't be afraid of them. They hate me because I refuse to." As they walked into the palace, Petra whispered different names, specifically pointing out one. "Andra is Hector's wife," she told Helen, "and she will adore you."

"Paris spoke of Andromache of Thebes," Helen confided quietly, "but he mostly spoke of you."

Petra paused, frowning. "Dear gods. It was all lies, I assure you."

Smiling, Helen shook her head. "He said you are extremely loyal to your family; that if you did not welcome me, no one would…" Helen paused, awkward with her words. "I wish to be friends, if you can stand a woman who left her husband in such circumstances."

Giving Helen's arm a squeeze, Petra admitted, "_I_ almost was given to Menelaus as a bride in my childhood. Paris will make a much better husband, I assure you." She paused. "We women must stick together."

Helen nodded, gratitude shining on her face.

"Who is your new friend, Petra?" Andromache had noticed now the new woman chatting with her sister-in-law. Now she stepped forward curiously with a welcoming countenance.

"Andra, this is Helen. She is Paris' wife."

It was only because of much practice with good manners that Andromache kept her reaction to a minimal. Her eyes widened and she glanced over at her husband, who nodded in confirmation.

Petra continued. "Helen, this is my dear first friend, and the future queen of Troy, Andromache." Helen bowed.

Andromache smiled at that, but she only inquired politely, "I trust you had a pleasant voyage here?"

While the two women politely started the usual introduction chatter, Petra slipped away to Hector's side. He smiled when she hugged him tightly, returning the gesture.

"This means a lot to Paris," Hector assured her. "He kept hoping you would accept Helen."

"I have no quarrel with her. I'd like to strangle Paris, though."

Hector's cheery look became grim. "I've expressed that desire to him already. But the damage is done. He will not leave her, and he will follow her to the ends of the earth."

Rolling her eyes, Petra groaned and shook her head. "And so he has said about numerous temple maids, port wenches, shepherdesses…"

"He moved on to shepherdesses?" Hector interjected, surprised.

"Last time he was home; Oenone is her name," Petra explained briefly, moving into a garden at their side. Hector chuckled as he followed, earning a glare from her. "It may be funny to you, but she clings to me every time I go to the temple and begs for news of Paris. I've had to give up my visits almost entirely."

That made Hector frown. "You should not have to deal with Paris' annoyances," he scolded her.

"He hasn't been here to deal with them."

Hector caught the envy in her voice. "I wanted to let you go," he assured her, pausing at a jasmine trellis, "but I still did not trust Menelaus. He openly chose dancing girls over his wife in front of her. The gods only know what he'd do." He still saw the sadness in his sister's eyes and smiled, taking her hand. "Come here."

He led her to a bench. "One day, when the negotiations grew tedious, I wandered through a local market and found this." Slowly, he pulled a shining shell necklace out of the pouch at his side.

Petra's eyes widened. "It's lovely!" she exclaimed, taking it and promptly clasping it on around her neck. He chuckled at her delight.

"I hate leaving you here, Pet, but hopefully I can stay longer this time."

"I know." She rested her head on his shoulder. "I will survive, I promise." Sighing, he let his head rest on top of hers for a moment, before he remembered something.

He now pulled out a small wooden carving of a lion from the sack at his hip. "I made this for Astyanax, do you think he'll like it?"

She grinned at it. "If he can sink his teeth into it."

Their joined laughter echoed through the warm air.

* * *

Author's Note: I use lots of references to actual Greek mythology and the actual story of Troy in this. Best source I know of, if you want a quick 101 course on Greek myths, is _Hamilton's Mythology_. It's great, and brief, but don't let it be your last exposure to those myths, there are other better versions of them that flesh them out.

The song at the beginning is "You Make Me Feel So Young," by Frank Sinatra. Go review!


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. Want to own Achilles. He's been dead for thousands of years. Sucks to be me.

wild-vixen: thanks for the compliment; I know what you mean, I'm trying not to turn Petra into a Mary Sue (someone shoot me in the head if I do, I willingly volunteer myself). She has some problems coming up soon, don't worry (for instance, look at this chapter—who do you think's going to be at the beach when the Greeks arrive?) I would argue, however, that an arranged marriage would be a pretty horrible fate… Petra is a lot like Eowyn in Lord of the Rings, so they have similar crisis.

moonrider: aww, thanks, honey. I'm glad you like it!

Siyavash: I dunno about the pet names, it matches Homer's style and almost every family has pet names for each other… I tried to keep them not that nonsensical or cheesy, but I'll try to avoid that from now on . Yes, she's spoiled—she's a princess, what do you expect? And I'm trying to have her family try to gently bring her to earth. Just wait until she meets the Greeks, though. That's going to have some interesting effects on her.

Ok, on with the story. . .

* * *

Dinner started badly. Despite the royal family welcoming Helen, the other nobles openly snubbed the former Spartan queen. Few actually spoke to her, and the significant ignoring started to take its toll on the young woman's brave front.

In his efforts to produce harmony, Priam had set Paris and Helen on his left, with Hector and Andromache at his other side. Petra sat directly at her father's side, where she could be safe from the councilmen's vicious tongues and their sons' over-amorous overtures. Priam wished for them to leave the table unscathed.

At one point, Helen tried to smile at one nobleman who made brief eye contact, only to earn a scowl and pointed glance away to the wall above her head for her troubles. Her head drooped further down. From her point of view at the end of the table, Petra watched Helen visibly wilt.

_This won't do_. Desperate times called for desperate measures, she reminded herself, inhaling slowly in preparation before launching her attack.

Down the table, Hector conversed with Priam and frowned at his father's words. "As much as I love Paris's current happiness," Priam was saying, "I cannot help but wonder if this will make matters worse towards Petra. The head priest has already spoken about an alliance with the Greeks through her, to apologize for this disgrace."

"To who?" Hector demanded. "Menelaus? He'll spear her head to his gates! Odysseus and Nestor are married…"

"Achilles isn't," Priam mused out loud.

Hector dropped his knife, his eyes turning from worried to rock. His voice rocked through his father's calm façade, temporarily alarming Priam. "Never. I will never let that murdering wretch within ten feet of her. I'll see his corpse in front of our gates first!"

"We eventually may have little choice," Priam reminded his son.

"There is always a choi—OUCH!"

Hector suddenly let out a startling yelp that caused every head to turn in his direction with surprise. Hector glanced suspiciously at a complacent Paris, whose attention at that point was directed at his new wife.

"Don't pinch me!" Hector whispered harshly at his younger brother.

"What?" Paris asked, bewildered. Helen, distracted from her current woes by this unusual display, looked equally puzzled.

Petra inwardly cheered at this exhibition by her siblings while her outward countenance was that of confusion and dismay at their lack of table manners. Priam looked between his two sons with a frown of displeasure at this new development.

Across the table, Briseis coughed into her long sleeve to disguise her giggles and Andromache bit back a smile. Helen wondered if the entire royal family of Troy had lost their collective minds. Then she noticed the innocent, absorbed expression on Petra's face. A slow smile curved over her lips as she sat back to watch what else her younger sister-in-law had cooked up.

Hector's silent battle of accusing looks with Paris ended, but Hector still looked wary when he returned to his father.

"You should know better than this, Hector," his father reprimanded in a grumble. Before Hector could protest, his father held up a hand. "I know you haven't seen us in a while, but that is no reason for a lack of bad manners."

"Father!"

"Quiet!" Priam's voice held an edge of thunder that his children knew better than to arouse. Petra even squirmed in her seat, earning herself an evil eye. She fingered her spoon absently. "Now, Hector…"

Suddenly, a lone pea flew into the air and beamed Paris on the cheek.

Heaving, Paris shot to his feet and glared at his older brother. "I didn't do anything!" he snapped angrily at Hector. "Stop making meaningless retaliations towards me!"

Hector paused, eyebrows furrowed at Paris' accusation. "What?" Priam looked equally confused now.

Paris threw his knife down. "I never did anything to you, and I would appreciate it if you would stop-" His words were cut off when Briseis dissolved into helpless laughter, sliding from her chair to the floor as she wiped tears off her cheeks. When he heard the suspicious sounds of giggles at his side, he turned to see Helen cupping a hand over her smiling mouth.

Both brothers' eyes met, then they looked suspiciously over at Petra. She was frowning at Briseis' terrible behavior before returning to her own food.

Priam arched an eyebrow at his youngest but kept silent.

A silent exchange occurred again between the brothers, but this time Paris and Hector slowly sat back and pretended to continue their separate conversations. Only this time, Hector's hand slowly slid underneath the table.

Down the table, a noble grimaced at the antics of the high table. His snobbish expression withered when Priam met his eyes with a displeased puckered brow.

Petra saw her brothers' looks and smirked. _Think you'll catch me again_? She only casually crossed her legs and took a bite of her baklava.

Suddenly, something cold splashed down her leg.

"HECTOR!" she shrieked, jumping up and shaking her skirts. Apparently, Hector smuggled some water under the table and kicked it onto her legs, soaking the front of her skirts.

Priam could not contain his amusement at his children's antics any longer. His shaking shoulders and gruff laughter attracted everyone's attention, but he only shook off any assistance offered by the servants at his elbow.

Helen stared at the royal family with bewildered amusement.

Andromache took pity on Helen's confusion and leaned over. "It's sort of a game between them," she explained. "When they were little, Paris and Petra tried to see who could get Hector into trouble first, and if he could catch who started it."

"And it's grown into an intricate competition since then," Helen finished, understanding now. She shook her head lovingly at her husband.

Petra winked at Helen, pretending innocence yet again when Paris glanced over to see what took his wife's attention away from him. He, however, retaliated by elbowing his sister, who promptly returned the action.

"You two behave," Hector ordered sternly across the table.

Rolling her eyes, Petra looked over at Helen. "But it's not nearly as amusing when I do, is it?" she implored. Helen only shook her head, refusing to get involved with family arguments this early.

But Andromache gave her an encouraging smile across the table. Feeling a bit of her courage returning, Helen smiled back shyly.

"I admit, I rarely see families anymore," she confessed. "I only see soldiers and their squabbling usually." Helen's glow faded a bit at the memory: every night having soldiers leer at her when Menelaus was distracted, seeing him openly ogle dancing girls and even let them seduce him in front of her, crying herself to sleep every single night…

"This can hardly be an improvement," Petra observed before adding with a wicked grin, "You have two bulls butting heads back and forth." Hector and Paris started to protest loudly before Priam cut in.

"Petra, stop teasing your brothers; dinner is over," Priam smoothly said, standing to signal the end of the meal.

Everyone else stood after the king's example, with men down the table bowing to each other and leaving. Only the two princes remained sitting as they entreated at their father.

"Bu… but…" Paris looked longingly at the remainder of his dessert.

"Father," Hector pleaded, "Paris and I haven't finished. We were a bit," he glared at Petra, "distracted."

"That is entirely your fault for rising to her bait," Priam said sternly, "good evening."

"But-"

Priam raised a hand, gesturing everyone out of the dining hall. Hector started to frown, when Andromache slipped the rest of his dessert into a spare piece of linen from the table. He smiled at his wife, kissing her cheek before offering his arm and escorting her out.

Helen, seeing Andromache's actions, copied the gesture, earning herself a smile and kiss. Petra smirked at her brother as he and his wife walked away.

Offering his daughter his arm, Priam murmured, "Was this episode worth the trouble you'll receive from the council tomorrow?"

"I can handle the council. Helen shouldn't have to so soon."

"Ah." Priam strolled down the hallway, looking down fondly at Petra. "I'm very proud of your actions towards her today, my love."

Petra shrugged. "She's family now."

"Yes," Priam said absently, "family." He paused at the doorway to an outdoor alcove, looking out at the garden there.

"Father?" Petra hesitated. "May I speak to you?"

Priam nodded, surprised. "Certainly." They walked outside, to one of the benches where Priam helped her sit. Taking a seat next to his daughter, Priam prompted her when she yet again wavered. "Well?"

"I would like to maybe visit the temple when Briseis returns," Petra spoke hesitantly. "I would like to seek some guidance."

"Guidance?" Priam knit his brow. "On what, Petra?"

"On where Apollo wishes me to go." Priam nodded with understanding. Petra sighed and looked down at her feet. "The council is making things harder for you, Father. I cannot stand that."

"Petra." She looked up at him, and he chucked her chin gently. "I have dealt with the council since before you were born, and I will have to deal with them for as long as I am king. Do not make any unwise decisions on account of them, dear."

"That's what Andromache said," she admitted.

"Your sister is a wise woman." Priam stared out at the sky thoughtfully. "But I am not one to pull you away from asking the gods for assistance. I will make sure you have an escort to the temple in five days."

"I would like to leave early," she added, "perhaps at dawn."

Priam nodded. "I shall speak to your cousin tonight." Priam stood and paused. "I am very proud of you," he said gently, "and I never want you to forget that."

"Yes, Father." She let him kiss her forehead, but fell into contemplative silence once alone.

**The Aegean Sea, Night**

_I wonder if when all is done  
Anyone heard my voice  
But from the start, we have no choice  
Our journeys just begin  
_

"_If you go to Troy, glory will be yours. They will write stories about your victories for thousands of years. The world will remember your name. But if you go to Troy, you will never come home, for your glory walks hand in hand with your doom, and I shall never see you again_…"

Thetis' words echoed through her son's head repeatedly, despite every attempt he made at sleeping. Finally tossing his blanket to the side heatedly, Achilles slipped a loin guard around his waist and took a walk.

Outside, the cool breeze made him shiver slightly, but it reminded him of the reasons he had taken this voyage. His eternal glory awaited him.

Despite Agamemnon's pigheadedness and dishonorable intentions towards any city he conquered, Achilles was on a ship in the middle of the sea, heading towards the war of a lifetime, knowing that somehow he would meet his eternal fate on the land of Priam and his people.

Glory and doom. He would vanish into dust and wind from a burning pyre here, but his name would always be remembered.

Was it worth the price? He glanced behind himself, as if he could see through the wooden boards to below decks where his cousin slept. He would not live to see Patroclus gain victories and trophies. He would not leave his own line of family behind him.

Even now he could see his mother's face as she watched his ship disappear from the shores of Phtia, and the sadness in her eyes.

_I'll never know if I was right  
Did I fight hard enough?  
Or when the battles grew to rough  
Should I have given in?  
But here I stand and swear to you  
I did the best that I could do_

The dark blue of the sea captivated his attention. When he was young, his father would take him on one of the ships and sail around the harbors, letting Achilles hang near the edge and watch the thick water kick up and smooth over again, as if by magic. When their adventure for the day was complete, they would return to have Thetis waiting with dinner and seashells to make into necklaces for young Achilles.

He stared at the water, sighing deeply. In his heart, he regretted letting go of the other life his mother had seen for him. Despite his philandering ways, Achilles had always secretly planned to find some woman, settle down, and start a family.

But none of the women of his travels even tempted him for anything other than a quick roll in the hay. None of them challenged him; none of them showed any remote intelligence outside of court gossip and flirting; none of them could possibly grab his attention for more than an evening.

Firmly, he resolved not to find a female companion during his time in Troy. He would rather die alone than with some wailing woman he did not even give two thoughts to grieving over his corpse, making herself part of his legend. He inwardly winced at the thought. No, celibacy would be best for him here in Troy.

_I know my voice was just a whisper  
But someone may have heard  
There were nights the moon above me stirred  
And let me grab a hold  
My hands have touched the gold_

"Cousin?"

Achilles' hand instinctively went to his sword at the first sound, but he relaxed when he recognized Patroclus' voice. He only let his hand return to its crossed position over his chest, staring back at the sea, lost in thought.

Patroclus stepped next to him, admiring the view silently. "We'll be in Troy soon."

The prince of Pthia recognized the excitement in his young friend's voice; Achilles had once, after all, held that passion and longing for battle, long before he became the legendary lone wolf and feared warrior. He only nodded, however, not even looking at his cousin.

Sensing Achilles' reluctance to talk, Patroclus followed his cousin's gaze to see what held his attention so raptly.

"What do you see?" Achilles finally asked, after long moments of quiet.

Knowing there must be some military lesson behind this exercise, Patroclus stared at the water, hard. "I see nothing," he finally admitted.

"Nothing?" Achilles chuckled silently. "Think, Cousin, it's not a hard task. I just want to know what you see when you look out at this… expanse." The two men fell into still contemplation.

"Poseidon." Grinning, Patroclus pointed out at a cloud sweeping down, "See? He's riding in his chariot on the surface!"

Achilles stared at it, then smiled. "Yes, I see it."

Patroclus glanced at his cousin sideways. "Why do you ask?"

Looking downward, Achilles studied his sandals, considering his choices. He dared not tell anyone on the boat his mother's predictions; she had gained respect for her ability at prophesy, and, knowing his men's loyalty, the Myrmidons would order the boat turned around and tie him to the mast to ensure his safety.

_My heart's been driven by extremes  
Blind with dreams, tight with fear  
But still, God knows I was here  
And oh, I was alive! _

"Oh, I just miss youthful idealism," he said casually. Patroclus' worried expression wiped away into disappointment. Achilles belatedly realized his unintentional slur on Patroclus. He covered his eyes with his hand, rubbing it down to his jaw. "Patroclus, I didn't-"

"Yes, you did." Patroclus turned and jerked off Achilles' offered hand of apology. "I'll see you in the morning."

The prince of Pthia watched his cousin leave. "I'm sorry."

_And now I lay the past to rest  
For in the end I did my best _

**Troy, Night**

Petra sighed, rolling over to her side. Throwing off her blanket, she walked, barefooted, over to the balcony and looked over to the sea. The moonlight reflected on it, highlighting it onto the horizon.

_You have to live the life you're given  
And never close your eyes!  
_

She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Her mind kept racing with worries, worries she had seen in Hector and her father's eyes. Despite the gift of a new sister and happiness in Paris, she saw the deadly results of Paris' impulsiveness. This time it had even more deadly consequences than ever.

Perhaps if she could make some type of marriage… But the thought of being the property of any Greek, especially Agamemnon, made her shudder with revulsion and try to think of some other solution. But there were none to be found.

_You hold on and stare into the skies  
And burn against the cold  
For any moment you might find the gold!_

Stepping away, Petra walked away to the chest at the end of her bed. She opened it and pulled out the gleaming blade from inside. When held with the tip touching the ground, it reached her waist.

She tested the weight and let out a swing. It gleamed and slid through the air like a knife through cream. She let out a breath of air.

The old training that Hector gave her came back, but instead of trying to keep herself calm and focus, her frustrations from the past few days slipped past her lips when she made her formations.

"Idiot counsel and their stupid rulings." Swing.

"Idiot Paris and his selfish actions." Swing.

"Stupid, stupid, **stupid** rules and regulation!" Swing. Her eyes narrowed and she started to

"**I HATE THIS**!" Clash.

Eyes wide with surprise, Petra looked past the now interlocked blades into Hector's amused face. "Continue," he said softly, letting her blade slide free but holding up his own weapon.

Her excitement drained away when in the face of her former tutor, and she looked away with embarrassment. How much had he heard?

"You're supposed to keep your emotions under control, Petra," he scolded mildly. "If you don't, you'll make a careless move and die."

"It's late." She slid the sword back in its sheath, kneeling to place it back in storage. "Father would not approve of you wandering down the halls this late, especially when you only just came back."

"And you're wide open." He let the flat of his blade hit her back, making her shoot up to her feet with the blade aimed at him in annoyance.

Petra's eyes narrowed down to slits. "Hector, don't."

"If you don't defend when attacked, you die," Hector warned, circling around her. He made a quick dash at her feet. Nimbly, however, she dodged it and made a hit towards his throat, only to have it blocked.

Hector had entered quietly when he heard his sister's voice, and now he wanted to keep that fire in her eyes. Tired of the lonesome shell she had put herself in, he now goaded her and goaded her until she released the Amazon in her, freeing herself before she retreated back into the shell of whatever the council wanted.

_And there was joy through it all  
And I am standing tall_

Inside, Petra could hear her decorous, frightened self shouting for her to stop before someone caught her. But she finally, for the first time since she turned fourteen, completely gave herself into reckless abandon.

She suddenly made a thrust at his hip. Hector jumped to the side, joining her while shouting instructions.

"Watch your weak points!" Their swords clashed.

"Never change sword hands; you haven't fought for a while, Petra!" She let her sword flip over her arm, however, before startling him and pretending to thrust at his neck.

He jumped backwards to fight her intensity. "Have you been practicing?"

"Whatever made you think that?" Hector tripped and found a cold blade touching his throat. Petra kneeled down, her eyes studying his. Then she smiled, her eyes shining like stars with contentment at a well-made strike. "Thank you," she whispered.

_And though my voice was just a whisper  
Someone must have heard!  
There were nights the moon above me stirred  
And let my life take hold  
_

Hector smiled back at her, letting her stand and help him up. "You haven't forgotten anything," he said admiringly.

A breathless laugh escaped her lips with joy. "I couldn't, not when you taught me." He hugged her firmly and held in the whoop that he felt bubbling from her chest.

"There is so much potential in you," he said as he held her at an arm's length. "You have enough fight to conquer the Greeks single-handed."

But then the light in her died at his words.

She turned and started to wrap up her sword. "It's useless, Hector." She cut off his noise of protest. "I cannot hope for anything more than a good marriage to a good man. I can't achieve the glory you and Paris have."

"Yes, you can!" he insisted, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her slightly. "You can do so much!"

Her eyes met his, giving him a skeptical look. "Think about it, Hector."

He started to protest, but she shook her head. And the world came crashing down on him. She was right. As a princess, she had no chance at doing anything great, unless she made some noble gesture of sacrifice.

"I have no chances for glorious deeds and daring accomplishments," she said with a nonchalant shrug, turning to put her sword away.

"Petra…"

"Good night, Hector."

_I rode across that sky  
And once I touched the gold! _

For a few moments, Hector stood there, trying to find some words of hope to give to her, but he had nothing.

She heard him walk out the door and close it behind him. As soon as he was gone, she slammed the chest closed and buried her face in her hands, letting out a repressed scream.

This room was a gilded cage. She stared at the ornate decorations, ones that her father and Paris insisted upon, and felt her throat close.

Walking to the window again, she stared out at the Aegean Sea.

"Apollo," she whispered, letting one tear fall and clenching her hands at her sides, "please… please hear me… Give me freedom, I beg you. I'll do anything, **let** you do anything…"

_Here in my own two hands_

_I touched the gold_

_

* * *

_

Author's Note: The song is Gold, by Linda Eder. Like? Dislike? Review!


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. Darn it.

Thanks to all the positive reviews! And for the negative, can I please ask for you to be patient? May I remind you that there have only been 2 chapters so far, and not everyone is completely flawed all the time. Petra is not perfect, but I am not going to point a sign telling you "FLAW! FLAW!" And to the comments about her name, I know it's not a truly traditional Greek name, but it is Greek, don't worry. Also, THERE IS A REASON SHE KNOWS SWORD-PLAY! It will be explained soon. (Hint: It has something to do with how Hecuba died).

So, read on!

* * *

Helen opened her eyes lazily, shifting against the strong arm wrapped around her. Blinking slowly, she looked over her shoulder to see Paris' sleeping features, calm and composed in slumbers. She gently nudged him back and slipped out of bed, wrapping a robe around herself.

Walking up to the window, she stared at the sea and shivered from the breeze as the sun warmed her face. A smile crossed her face while joy welled up in her, escaping as a laugh. It had not been a dream.

No more would she wake up and dread the day. No more would she gaze at the sea and long for her demise. She had Paris' love and freedom.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a figure in the gardens below.

She squinted, attempting to distinguish whoever it was from her sparse acquaintances from here. Her smile started to brighten when she recognized Petra, but then she perceived the slump in her shoulders, the listless and directionless stroll. Frowning, she turned and shuffled back into the room, grabbing a gown and dressing on her way.

Paris sat up in the bed while he rubbed his eyes blearily. "What's wrong?" he asked with a sleepy yawn.

Helen hesitated. She barely knew Petra, but she had a feeling that the young princess would want privacy for now, and no man would understand. From what she observed of Paris' relationship with his sister, he would insist on barging in and Petra would clam up. "Nothing," she whispered assurance to him, smiling gently. "I was just going for a walk."

"All right." He yawned again and rolled back over, asleep before she even left.

Rolling her eyes, she smiled and kissed his cheek. "I love you," she murmured, nuzzling his dark curls before straightening and heading with purpose out the door.

As she walked down the halls, she marveled at the quietness and cleanness of the buildings. Everything practically sparkled, unalike Menelaus' old sty of a home, where soldiers trampled their mud- and blood-soaked bodies everywhere and animals ran wild with the wine and wenches. There were even high ceilings that loomed above anyone and pools of water purposefully in the floors here for mirrors.

Helen was so enamored by the rooms, she almost walked straight into Andromache.

"Oh!" Helen almost fell over from embarrassment. "I am so sorry…"

"No, it's all right." Andromache helped steady her new sister-in-law, before asking, "Were you coming to talk to Petra, also?"

Pausing, Helen tilted her head to study the Theban princess. "Yes."

"Good, I'll come with you." Andromache smiled welcomingly. "She needs as many friends as she can have now." Helen felt a warm glow at being called Petra's friend. She rarely had any women friends in her life, only servants and visiting royalty.

"Did you sleep well?" Andromache inquired as they walked towards the garden. "I found the peace almost… disconcerting the first time I was here."

Smiling at that, Helen shook her head. "I found it comforting."

"Oh." Andromache belatedly remembered when Helen came from, and what her husband had told her about Menelaus and his men. "I'm glad to hear that," she covered and gestured towards a balcony they were passing. Sunlight poured into the still quiet halls of the palace.

Strolling into the courtyard, Helen felt her heart ache when she saw Petra.

Petra had rested on one of the benches and now stared blankly out at the cloudless sky, her eyes distant and sad. Her fingers twirled the milky gem on the end of a cord wrapped around her slim throat. Random breezes brushed past her, letting her hair dance around her face. But she never flinched, even when one strand whipped into her eyes.

Helen hesitated, but Andromache called out, "Petra?"

The princess started, then relaxed when she recognized her sisters-in-law. "Good morning," she called, smiling for their sakes.

Andromache ignored Petra's pleasantries. "What happened, darling?"

Starting to protest otherwise, Petra's voice failed when she saw the determination in the two women's eyes. "I asked Father to let me visit the Temple in four days, when Briseis returns. I thought perhaps I might find some answers there."

"The gods do not answer our every inquiry," Andromache reminded her, sitting to Petra's left. Helen sank to the right.

Shoulders sinking in dejection, Petra looked down at her feet. Helen felt completely useless, searching for something useful or appeasing to offer to her new friend. She finally spoke softly, her hand raised and stroking Petra's hair back.

"They sentenced me to silence," the former Spartan queen admitted, referring to the gods. "For years I prayed to any of them for release from Menelaus' advances and home, only to cause the end of what would have been peace between your people and his, before it even began. My new happiness comes at a dear price to those I now care for."

Petra and Andromache glanced at each other. Should they deny the truth? War was inevitable now.

"Was he really that horrible?" Petra questioned cautiously.

Nodding, Helen looked out into the sea. "I used to sit, like you do now." Her eyes became distant and pained as she remembered. "Every day I watched the waves crash on the shore outside the palace."

"And you wanted to join them," Petra finished with understanding.

Helen shrugged, looking down at her feet. "Menelaus is a warrior, a courageous man. He only learned how to kill and destroy. Not love."

"Paris will never hurt you," Andromache promised, letting a hand drift over Helen's shoulder. "He has his sister and brother to keep him in line, and he is honorable when it counts." Helen smiled at that.

"You needn't tell me that."

Petra's smile became mischievous. "Besides, I doubt he'll leave your chamber often enough to get himself into trouble."

"PETRA!" Andromache scolded as she shot up to her feet. "That is _not_ the way you speak in polite company! I may be used to your bold speeches, but Helen is not!"

Incorrigible, Petra only looked over at Helen with a grin.

Giggling, Helen only nodded. "I shall endeavor to do so," she sham-promised.

Throwing up her hands in dismay, Andromache let out a shriek when Petra poked her sides. "Not again!" she exclaimed, chasing after the young princess. Helen hesitated to join her, but quickly the three women ran through the gardens into the palace and past Priam and his sons. Helen almost accidentally crashed into her husband, whose arms shot out to catch her from a potentially painful fall, and jumped when Petra took the opportunity to poke her side.

"I'll get you for that!" Helen promised, ducking under Paris' arm after Petra, who threw back her head in laughter.

Hector shouted after Helen, "Good luck! Neither Paris nor I have every caught her!" Petra let out a shout of affirmation, turning into a yelp when Helen's fingers almost caught her. They circled once again around the men, with Andromache attempting to do a rear attack while Helen distracted Petra. However, the agile princess only swooped under Helen and scampered down another hallway, shouting teasing remarks back at her two sisters.

Priam smiled after the three women. "Helen seems to be doing well."

"Indeed." Paris beamed at his sister's attempts to include Helen in her and Andromache's games. "Indeed."

* * *

**Later in the Afternoon**

"Are you sure that you are allowed to do this?" Helen questioned for the hundredth time, looking warily from the box Petra was balancing tipsily onto before cocking an ear to listen for any coming intruders in their little escapade.

Petra stuck her head out of the shelf she was peeking in. "Of course! Paris and I used to do this every day when we were younger!"

Still unconvinced, Helen glanced around the empty kitchen room again. "Menelaus never allowed me to try anything that the servants could do by themselves," she admitted.

"Well," Petra emerged with flour smudges on her cheeks and her hair askew, "This is not Sparta, and Menelaus sounds like a stubborn pig."

The less than exalted description of her former "lord and master" made Helen giggle. She noticed with delight that Petra had managed to grab the honey and a few other goodies during her raid. "Now what do we do?" she asked, holding out her arms for some of the cargo. Petra handed her a few treats.

"We sneak back to the garden," Petra ducked and crawled through the room, with Helen at her side, "and pray that the cook does not catch us."

"I thought you said we were allowed to do this!" Helen protested.

"Yes, but she still insists that I should let her do the work if I'm hungry." Petra rolled her eyes. "Father has let me do this for ages, and part of the fun is not getting- Oh, she comes!"

Both women stood and ran out the door, shrieking at the close call.

Once outside in the sunlight, Helen gasped and leaned against the palace wall, pointing at Petra. "You…" Petra chuckled.

"She did not see us," she confirmed, handing out a cracker.

They sank onto the grass, munching happily on their stolen goods. "I love the sunlight," Helen sighed, watching Petra kick off her sandals.

"Paris and I once made a fortress in that tree," Petra pointed to a sturdy oak, "eons ago. Hector helped us secure it. We would do everything there, from playing pirates to guarding the citadel…" Her voice trailed off at the happy memories.

"What happened?" Helen asked curiously.

Petra rolled her eyes. "The council thought I change my habits to more womanly pastimes, and Paris started to notice girls."

"I did not!" Both jumped at Paris' interruption.

"Oh, yes you did!" Petra argued, flicking a grape at Paris' head with expert ease.

When it smacked him right between the eyes, Helen shrieked with laughter, only to have Paris attack her by tickling her ribs. Leaning back, Petra smiled at her brother's antics, only to sigh when she saw the love radiating between the young couple.

She quietly stood and walked back inside, pausing only to kneel down and grab her sandals, when she realized they longed to be alone.

Her footsteps echoing through the great hallways, Petra let her feet drag and considered her options now. Paris and Helen were (ahem) preoccupied, as probably were Hector and Andromache, her father should not be disturbed from his work… As if to answer her problem, Briseis appeared down the way, holding a fussy Astyanax in her arms. Her troubled face brightened when she saw Petra.

Stepping forward, Petra opened her arms wordlessly and accepted her nephew, smiling down at his little face and tickling his tiny feet.

"I felt that Hector and Andromache would appreciate not needing to tend to him for a while," Briseis explained, her face coloring at the idea of what could possibly be their reasons. Petra silently laughed but nodded. Having dealt with soldiers in her youth, she already knew the basics that most royal virgins learned at their husband's hands from crude descriptions. Briseis, however, not only was a servant of Apollo but had also been sheltered most of her life and the only men she regularly saw were her uncle and cousins.

Astyanax cooed and gurgled at Petra, his pleasure at seeing her evident. He grabbed a tiny fistful of her hair and tried to bring it to his mouth with interest.

"No, no, no," she scolded gently, opening his hand. He only chortled.

"He grows so fast," Briseis said wistfully. "Every time I visit, he has changed so much."

"If you hadn't dedicated your life to Apollo, you would see him more."

Briseis sighed. "The gods deserve-" Petra arched an eyebrow at her with a look that plainly said _no excuses_. "Oh, all right. I didn't want the council to choose my fate for me for the rest of my life."

"At least you have that luxury," Petra said gloomily. Her tone affected Astyanax, who started to cry from the dark mood. "Oh, bother! Shh!"

"Perhaps you could find some way to avoid that decision," Briseis suggested over the wails erupting from within Petra's arms. She let her own fingers dangle tantalizingly in front of the baby.

Instead of responding, Petra hummed a Trojan lullaby to her nephew, sighing with relief when he closed his eyes and slept.

"Finally," she murmured, holding him close. "Let's not dwell on gloomy subject today, Briseis," she added. "We have so few days left together, let's enjoy them while we can!"

Before the priestess could object, Petra let her eyes plead for her. Briseis knew when to drop a subject.

"In that case, I challenge you to a game of chess," she said.

"Prepared to lose yet again?" Petra teased, letting herself fall into stride next to her cousin while she rocked Astyanax.

"I believe I won the last match," Briseis reminded Petra.

"Only because you let Paris and Hector help you!" Petra retorted. "Otherwise you would yet again be crushed under my cunning!"

"Modesty is so enduring," Briseis retorted.

The two walked down the hallway, continuing their banter that was laced heavily with topics neither dared touch. The days were too full of possibly explosions already.

* * *

**Later, The Throne Room**

_I wanna call the stars  
Down from the sky  
I wanna live a day  
That never dies  
_

"They want us to offer her to Menelaus as compensation for his loss?" Hector shouted at his father. Paris let out his own angry huff before turning away, rubbing his jaw to hold back his own angry words.

Priam sighed with frustration. "It was not of my own doing," he said wearily, sinking onto his chair. "The council decided-"

"The council, the _council_! Father, you are the king!" Hector sighed.

Leaning forward, Priam held his head on his old knees as he listened to his son release his anger.

_I wanna change the world  
Only for you  
All the impossible  
I wanna do_

Despite his words, however, Hector knew that their father could no more refute the council's decisions than force the sun to cease moving. This was an old argument that had repeated itself every year since Petra's fourteenth birthday.

"You have the power to tell them to stand down!" Paris added to Hector's comment, not sensing the losing battle present.

Outside the room, Petra sat on the stairs, huddled with her arms hugging her knees to her chest. Helen sat next to her, her arms wrapped around her gently, with her chin resting on Petra's shoulder.

"This is all your fault, Paris!" Hector shot at his brother. "If you had not touched Menelaus' wife, we would not have this problem to deal with! And Father, I will not allow you to even suggest this to Petra! I will not have that barbarian, that scum, that loathsome-"

Priam's voice rose in return fire. "You don't think it kills me to have someone tell me to force my daughter into a decision like this?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Hector retorted.

_I wanna hold you close  
Under the rain  
I wanna kiss your smile  
And feel the pain  
_

A lone tear fell down Petra's cheek when she heard her father's response, spitting out each word precisely. "You arrogant young pup, if you were still a child-"

"I'm _not_ a child anymore, Father, and I refuse to let you do this to her!"

"What do you suggest? That I disband the council?" Priam snapped.

"Perhaps you could reach a compromise-" Paris suggested out of the blue, looking to his father and brother hopefully. They each gave him a look of absolute disbelief.

"A _compromise_!"

Hector demanded, "Paris, how in the world could we offer the council a compromise on this?"

Petra raised her hands to her ears, trying to block out their voices.

Paris now attempted to redeem himself by protesting, "I just thought-"

"No, you didn't think!" Hector's pacing stopped and he looked with frustration at his brother, trying to make him understand the gravity of what he had done. "You never think until afterwards, you're such a boy despite your years."

_I know what's beautiful  
Looking at you  
In a world of lies  
You are the truth  
_

Before another word of anger was said, Petra shot up to her feet and ran out, startling the three men. Helen started after her but stopped when Hector and Paris stepped out into the hallway.

Hector stared after his sister. "How much did she hear?" he asked finally with a hollow voice.

"Everything."

_And baby  
Everytime you touch me  
I become a hero  
I'll make you safe  
No matter where you are  
And bring you  
Everything you ask for  
_

Petra stumbled through the halls, fighting her way past the anger choking her so abominably that she barely could breathe. When she saw the light at the end, glowing from the coming sunset, she followed it to the balcony overlooking the sea. The wind whished through her hair and let it trail backwards, blowing past the palace and far away.

The oncoming night sky sparkled with diamond-like stars, and above her head a flock of birds flew off into the sunset. Her hands clenched the cool stone at her fingers as she gasped back a sob trying to escape her throat, knowing this was not the worst of the arguments to come.

Tears streamed down her cheeks before she angrily pushed them away. "What more can I do?" she whispered. She repeated her words, this time screaming them at the sky. "_What more can I do_?"

Shaking an angry fist at the sky, she shouted at Apollo. "I have given you everything! I have followed you faithfully! Why are you doing this!"

_Nothing is above me  
I'm shining like a candle in the dark  
When you tell me that you love me  
_

"He doesn't give you everything."

Turning towards the door, Petra saw her cousin standing there. "I cannot handle a lecture now, Briseis," she said, spinning back to the sunset. Hopefully her body language loudly explained her inability to communicate positively tonight.

But Briseis persisted. "We all love you, and Uncle will never force you."

"How do you know? You didn't just hear them; they almost sounded like they hated each other!" Petra stared out at the sky. After a while, she spoke again. "Do you know what I really wish?" she asked softly.

Briseis felt alarm at the sudden stillness in her cousin. "No."

"I wish…" Petra gestured at the twilight, to the horizon. "I wish I could go out there with Paris and Hector, fighting for Troy, not being stuck here behind these walls." She harshly laughed. "Father says they protect us. They don't. They cage us."

"Not everyone wants to leave here, dear."

"I'm trapped here," she whispered as if she could not hear Briseis.

"No!" Briseis shook her cousin's arm, frightened by this turn of events. "We would never trap you here, love!"

"You can't help it." Petra stared out at the sunset.

"We _love_ you," Briseis said desperately. "We-"

"Briseis," Helen stepped outside, interrupting the priestess. Briseis turned to the blonde with desperation in her eyes. "May I speak with Petra… alone?" Her eyes booked no room for argument.

_I wanna make you see  
Just what I was  
Show you the loneliness  
And what it does  
_

Nodding, Briseis hurried inside, crying out, "Hector!"

The two women watched Briseis scurry away before Helen sighed and looked back at Petra. "Do you need someone to just listen?" she asked gently, not pushing or prodding like everyone else.

Petra shrugged her slim shoulders, her body facing the sky again.

"When I lived in Sparta," Helen joined Petra at her side, "I would always long for someone to listen to me, to hear what I was feeling."

"That's all I've done," Petra tried to explain. "Talking does nothing."

"So does staring at the clouds and wishing to jump off the city walls," Helen pointed out. She glanced sideways to see Petra's reaction to this accusation.

"I do not want to jump off the walls!" Petra protested feebly.

"You soon will, if you haven't yet," Helen predicted. "Everyday I was with Menelaus I would stare at the sea and wish to drown in it. I was almost at that decision when Paris came into my life and saved me."

Sighing, Petra shook her head, letting her hair fly out of her face. "I don't have a Paris to rescue me, Helen. I doubt he even exists."

_You walked into my life  
To stop my tears  
Everything's easy now  
I have you here  
_

Helen let her hand rub up and down Petra's back comfortingly. "Then you just need to be patient. He'll come when you are about to break, and when you have finally given up hope."

Finally making eye contact with Helen, Petra allowed a glimmer of hope in her words. "You really think so?"

The new princess of Troy took her sister-in-law's hand and squeezed it tightly. "I know so." She then pulled Petra towards the inside. "Come on, Briseis probably has the whole house in an uproar now."

_In a world without you  
I would always hunger  
All I need is your love to make me stronger

* * *

_

Author's Note: The song is _When You Tell Me That You Love Me _by Diana Ross (I think). Review! And you still have a little while before the Greeks arrive. . . 


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. Wolfgang Peterson won't return my calls, nor will Brad Pitt. Apparently Brad's in Africa with Angelina at the moment… just kidding.

Siyavash: I sort of know what you're trying to say. But can I please beg you to give me a chance to write? I have only posted 3 actual chapters before this, and I know that you mean well when you give your advice, but I have to admit that you sounded insulting in your long note that you sent me—A story is a writer's baby, and if you don't like it, then give constructive criticism or move on. Don't tell me what to do with my story. But I assure you that there is an explanation for everything. I'm not going to hold my readers' hands and lead them through the story, giving them the answer at the very beginning. Nobody enjoys that; they would simply get up and leave. Ok, I'm done ranting, but I hope you will at least try to give this a chance.

Shariena: Sorry, hon, you're going to have to wait 1 more chapter… 

Ok, folks, on with the show!

* * *

Sunlight peeked through the windows and doors into the palace, inquisitively searching for the royal family of Troy despite the somewhat early hour. A few servants confronted her, jumping and blinking sleepily at her wandering rays, but her quest appeared to be in vain, for most of the house continued to sleep off the effects of last night's continued celebration of Paris' nuptials. Only a few hours had passed since the majority of the guests had stumbled off to bed, in fact.

Her search went through the eastern side of the palace, bathing it in pink and yellow and warming its rooms to a comfortable temperature. Helen and Paris appeared to still be asleep, Priam restlessly rolled in his own chambers, Petra and Briseis each dozed quietly in their respective rooms, and Hector…

When Aurora's eyes reached Hector's quarters, however, the sun goddess beamed at the sight of the great warrior, the tamer of horses, playing with his son on the sunlit veranda while his mother continued to dream in the bedroom. Astyanax let out a shrieking laugh when his father tossed him up and caught him, ending with a relentless tickling that entertained and tormented the child.

Hector kept his expression and behavior light for his son's benefit despite his internal worries about last night. His sister's temperament usually stayed at a positive high whenever he saw her, but perhaps melancholy entered her moods during his and Paris' absence. Never before had he seen her experience such sadness, in her entire life.

Making a mental note to remedy this with Paris' help, Hector continued to laugh at his son's antics and play. Finally Astyanax let out a delicate yawn and curled up against his father's chest, nestling in for a nap.

_Finally_. Hector chucked his son's chin playfully and hugged the small form in his arms. _I wonder if Andromache_…

"We missed you." Andromache stepped onto the veranda, still dressed in her nightgown with a wrapper keeping her warm. Hector's smile grew in intimacy as he held out a hand to her, and he clasped hers tightly, intertwining their fingers. She smiled at him despite her exhaustion. Astyanax never enjoyed his father's absences and never slept well when Hector left for more than a night. Now she had his father keeping her up late at nights.

But as their fingers laced together, she knew she would have it no other way, for all the gifts of the gods.

"I dislike being away from my wife and son." Hector lifted her hand to his lips, gently kissing the soft skin and rubbing it against his jaw. "I'll speak to my father about perhaps avoiding traveling so far for a few months."

Andromache's beaming face rewarded him. She sat next to him on the bench, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

"What did you and your father discuss last night?" she asked. She would have stayed to listen and be supportive, but around the time that he was to meet with his father, Astyanax's temper reached its limit and the infant had needed desperately to be put to bed. So she soothed their child to sleep and now listened to hear the story from her husband.

"Petra." He felt her sigh instead of hearing it but continued. "She overheard it too, apparently. And two nights ago I found her doing sword practice in her room."

"Someday I fear she will willingly fall on it," Andromache admitted in a whisper.

Hector paused in his rubbing his son's back soothingly. "So this _has_ been going on for a while." She nodded in confirmation. He frowned and looked out at the sky. "Is my father aware of this?"

"She won't let me tell him," Andromache explained. "The council has grown more impatient towards a decision for her marriage. She knows how this troubles your father and wishes to spare him pain. And now, with the possibly war coming…"

This last part caught Hector's attention vividly. Andromache usually denied the possibility of wars and battles, longing for peace at all times.

Her sad smile met his. "It is unavoidable now," she said softly, letting a hand skim over his back. "I know that this time we cannot avoid war. At least," she looked over to the sea towards where he had been looking, "this time you'll be here and I will know your fate every day, instead of waiting."

Keeping one arm on Astyanax, he let the other slide around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair. When she clung tighter to him, he said it again, fighting the ache in his throat. "I'm sorry."

Shuddering, she let a few tears spill down her cheek. In her heart, she prayed desperately for the gods to spare him. She could not lose his strength and courage, for he was her anchor that kept her secure.

After spilling some of her grief, she let herself pull away from his warm embrace. "Go visit with Petra," she said, standing and taking Astyanax.

He knew that her abrupt change of topic came more from her concern for her sister-in-law rather than a want of privacy, but he wondered at the wisdom of her suggestion after this gloomy topic.

"Are you sure?" he tried not to push.

"Nobody missed you as much as she did," Andromache said as she walked into their room, cradling their son. Over her shoulder, she added with a smile, "Except me. But you have seen me. You haven't seen her."

Hector did not argue but smiled back at her. After spending a moment to pause, he soon followed and slid on a shirt before exiting into the palace.

Inside the interior of the palace, more now occurred. A few courtiers wandered through the halls along with servants, but Hector passed them with only a nod of acknowledgment and entered the rest of his family's quarters.

The royal family's section of the palace continued to be silent. He soon reached Petra's door and knocked firmly on the solid wood.

_When you feel all alone  
And the world has turned it's back on you  
Give me a moment please to tame your wild, wild heart_

No one answered. This did not deter the heir of Troy.

"Petra." He rapped again. But he still received no reply. Sighing, Hector stepped back and muttered under his breath before making his move. He charged the door.

A loud crash echoed through the halls quickly and he winced.

Splintered wood shot throughout Petra's room, covering the floor and every surface within ten feet of the door, except in a circle around the place where Petra stood, still in mid-step towards the door.

Staring wide-eyed and gape-mouthed at her now-demolished door, she whispered with disbelief, "Zeus's beard." Her once pristine room now had chalky plaster from the wall chunks that now were missing from the doorframe and oak chips that once had guarded her from intruders scattered all over the smooth marble floors and few piece of furniture.

Hector arched an eyebrow at her words. "Language," he mildly reprimanded her, like he used to when she was younger.

"_You_ destroyed my door," she reminded him; "I think that's enough reason to swear…" She shook her head, however, and turned a full circle to take in the extent of the damage. She groaned when she realized that now it would take weeks probably to remove the film from the dust on the couch to the left of the door. "Dear gods, Hector!"

"Well, you didn't answer," he said without remorse.

"I was getting up to," she argued, forgetting the wood fragments now covering her room for a moment.

Hector's brow puckered with skepticism.

"I was!"

_I know you feel like the walls are closing in on you  
It's hard to find relieve and people can be so cold  
When darkness is upon your door and _

_You feel like you can't take anymore  
_

"What were you doing, then, that absorbed your attention so that you failed to hear my knock?" Hector challenged, crossing his arms over his chest in a silent challenge.

She rolled her eyes and made a gesture at herself. Suddenly Hector was acutely aware of the water now dripping into a puddle near her feet, her soaked hair that clung to the sides of her face and the scent of jasmine from the corner of the room. He also spied a large tub in the opposite corner of her room that still had steam swirling over it in lazy circles.

"Oh." Hector vainly attempted to hide his embarrassment. "I was worried that perhaps-"

"No you, too!" she groaned, rubbing her forehead and shaking her wet hair out of her face, only resulting in spraying water droplets all over her brother, but he barely noticed.

"I-"

"Hector, I am not going to kill myself!" she interrupted. "I have no desire to die before I have even really begun to live! I may be moody, but I am sure it is from loneliness and not some strange malady on my sanity."

"And I am not allowed to worry?" She tilted her head to the side, studying his body language of concern.

"I do not want you to be anxious over me."

"Too late. I started the moment you were born." She chuckled while pulling her robe closer. A breeze swept through the room, making her shiver.

Hector walked over to her bed and picked up a blanket then returned to where she stood, handing it to her. When she shook her head, he adamantly shoved it in her direction. She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled as she wrapped herself up and felt her cold skin beginning to warm.

"Listen," Hector took a step back respectfully, "I came to ask if you wanted to go for a ride today, or perhaps play a game or two of chess." He exhaled deeply when her eyes sparkled at the suggestion.

Inside he could kick himself for not coming up with this idea sooner. Already she looked much improved, with healthy color to her face.

"I promised to see you more when I returned, and I have failed to keep that promise," he added, letting his arms fall back to clasp behind his back. "I now have the time to fulfill it."

_Let me be the one you call  
If you jump I'll break your fall  
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night  
_

"What about your-" She started to dim when she remembered the many distractions that her brother usually always had. But he shook his head adamantly.

"Andromache suggested this, and I miss spending time with my little sister." Hector took a step forward, chucking her chin. Their eyes met, his solemn yet playful, hers welling with hope and excitement. "I will _always_ have enough time for you."

She knew that Hector meant it, for he always kept his word honorably, especially for her.

"So," he stepped carefully back to the hall, "I shall send someone to clean this up, you get dressed, and we shall see how today goes." Petra nodded enthusiastically. "I'll meet you in the stables in an hour."

Whistling to himself, Hector walked away and chuckled when he heard her feet running to finish quickly.

At the stables he ordered for the horses to be prepared. He noticed the empty stall next to his stallion, Takhys, and turned to the head groom. "What happened to your mistress Petra's horse, Alexis?" The groom looked up with confusion. "Leukippos, where is he?"

"Oh, him." The groom's jovial face fell at that. "I'm afraid he suffered a broken leg about a month ago, my lord. He…" Alexis did not finish.

"I see." Not only had she lost her freedom to do as she pleased, but also Petra lost her horse, one of her few escapes and true friends in this place besides her brothers. He had personally chosen Leukippos from one of Takhys' mistresses, knowing that the horse would prove both loyal and strong at Petra's hands.

He sighed and called out for another horse to be readied for her.

_If you need to fall apart  
I can mend a broken heart  
If you need to crash then crash and burn  
You're not alone  
_

Hector kept his word. While her bedroom door was being repaired, Petra joined him for a ride on the beach.

Through the city, they kept a sedate pace as to not alarm the people. But once at the gates, they took off like two of Apollo's arrows through the large doors, heading for the sea with the wind nipping at their ears. A breathless laugh escaped Petra's lips and she let her head fall back, shouting with total abandonment at the sky. Hector grinned and let his horse race past hers.

"If you're not careful, I'll be at the water before you even pass the dunes!" he shouted the warning to her over their horses' hooves.

Her expression changed from absolute joy to calculating how to beat him in less than the blink of an eye. "I beg to differ!" she hollered back, gliding away in front.

Their chase led up and down the sand until they tied at the edge of the wet sand.

_When you feel all alone  
And a loyal friend is hard to find  
You're caught in a one way street  
With the monsters in your head  
_

When they reached the water, Petra slid off and ran to where the waves broke, twirling around and chasing her shadow up and down the sand while carelessly pulling her hair loose from its chignon and letting it dance in the wind. She reminded Hector of the water nymphs the priests talked about.

The lightness in her step assured him that, indeed, he had made a wise decision by taking her out of the palace. He could kick himself for not doing this sooner and silently let up a prayer of thanks to the gods for giving him a wise and wonderful woman as a wife.

While he mused, Petra squinted at the bright sun, tilting her head backwards. "It's so hot," she commented when he had joined her side.

"Indeed." A splash of cold water hit her and startled her out of her thoughts. When she glanced over at her brother, Hector only gave her a look of innocence despite the tell-tale wet that clung to his sandals and shin.

Her return kick resulted in soaking him from the knees down.

"Oh, I'll get you for that!" he vowed, leaning down to scoop up a handful of water, only to get assaulted by a wave in his face for his troubles.

Petra giggled at his amazed look before taking off down the shores.

For a while they ran and shouted playful insults at each other, laughing when some antic backfired or stopping to do mindless chatter. Most of their talk circled around Hector's latest travel and the city of Sparta.

"It really is a plain city," Hector was saying as they strolled back to where their horses waited. The sun now was halfway through the sky. "No monuments anywhere, except at the temples, and even then they have few tributes to the gods other than an idol or two. It's really nothing like Troy." He threw a rock at the rollicking water.

"Poor Helen," Petra wondered, "all alone, with no friends in such a place…"

"That will never happen to you," Hector assured her. "Helen does not have the strength you posses, Pet." His sister let her hand brush against his. Despite his deprecating words about Sparta, he knew how she longed to travel, and his accounts were all she had.

_When hopes and dreams are far away and  
You feel like you can't face they day  
_

When she refrained from speaking for a while, Hector glanced sideways at her. "Shall we head back to the palace for some chess?" he suggested, not wanting to watch her sink into melancholy again.

"Why wait?" She grinned and walked over to her saddlebag, pulling out a board and a cloth bag, supposedly holding the chess pieces.

"Petra!" Hector shook his head in amusement at her. "When…?"

"I slipped it in while you were checking Takhys' reins," she admitted as she walked to a flat area, smoothing it with her sandal before she sank down and started to set up the game. "Prepared to lose again?"

"_You_ lost last time," he argued but joined her.

"No, _you_ won two times ago. Last time _I_ won because you let the ambassador from Thebes make that one move for you that resulted in my checkmate." He made a face at her accurate recollection and inwardly yet again cursed the Theban whose ill advice cost him a game. However, Petra now rarely lost, for Hector and Priam taught her tactics well. She would make a fine general who would always win battles with her strategy, if she had been born a boy.

_Because there has always been heartache and pain  
And when it's over you'll breathe again  
You'll breath again _

**

* * *

Night, Troy**

Helen and Petra sat, facing each other across the small table they sat at. The new princess had challenged Petra to a game with tiles, and now was contemplating how to possibly recoup the losses she now sustained.

After scanning the board, Helen slowly picked up one piece and moved it. "There!" she declared with triumph. "Beat that!"

Petra shrugged and only let her one finger brush one over two spaces.

Helen's groan echoed through the room and Petra giggled at Helen's dismay. Across the room, Andromache strummed on her lute while humming to her son, now occupying his father's arms. Hector shook his head at Helen's plight.

"Good luck," he called over to her; "Paris and I haven't beaten her for years, except every once in a blue moon." Andromache, not missing a beat, ceased singing but nodded in agreement as she kept her fingers pluck at the strings.

"Why did no one inform me of this _before_ I agreed upon this?" Helen demanded.

"And miss out on this?" Petra asked with a mischievous grin. She ducked expertly when Helen threw one of the pillows at her side towards Petra's head.

Paris and Priam watched this warming scene from the window.

"She is happy here," Priam observed the gold and dark heads bent over the dominoes in the corner, meaning Helen. "I am glad for you, Paris."

"It is not entirely my own doing," Paris admitted. "If Petra had not been here, I am not sure that Helen would be accepted by anyone, let alone the few that now talk to her."

"I agree." Priam smiled at his son's surprise. "You may think that I have been too distracted by the council, son, but I still have eyes and ears."

Frowning, Paris shook his head and started to make the usual protest.

"Father, I never meant-" But Priam cut him off with a wave of his hand, not offended.

"No, no, you never said anything, Paris, nor suggested that you think that." Priam's gaze fell back on his daughter and newest member of his growing family. His countenance saddened however. "They are two peas in a pod, those two. They know what it's like."

"'Like?'" Paris echoed with confusion wrinkling his face.

Priam sighed, gesturing for his son to follow him. They stepped out of the torch-lit room and out into a vacant hallway adjoining the room.

The scent of jasmine sifted through the night, entering their senses along with the spectacular sunset over the horizon. Paris closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. How he had missed his country while in Sparta! Despite his meeting Helen, he had longed for the beaches of his home.

"Something tells me that Helen can empathize with Petra's current state of unhappiness." Paris' face changed from surprised to guilty in the space of a few seconds, but Priam patted his son's arm. "She has tried to hide it from you, Paris, for she wants you to enjoy what little peace you will have. She knows that you don't always think of consequences."

Paris flushed at the truthful reprimand, however mildly it was worded. He hung his head, feeling like a six year old being punished yet again for getting him and his little sister into worrisome situations that probably gave his father all his gray hair.

"I do not say this to bring pain or guilt on you, son. I am merely saying that bringing Helen here might have been a gift from the gods, to help your sister as well as you."

Both men fell into silence when Petra and Helen's combined laughter met their ears. They looked over to the room, still cocooned in happiness.

Night fell over the city, and all through her Troy's people ended their day. Husbands and wives embraced goodnight, children drifted into the land of their dreams, pets nestled at their owner's feet, and livestock lowed. They believed that no harm came towards them, nor could touch them. They were safe behind the secure walls of Troy. They had been so for a thousand years.

But King Priam looked over the city with a worried frown. Paris understood why, without needing any explanation.

They both knew the peace would be short. The Greeks were coming.

* * *

Author's Note: The song is _Crash and Burn_ by Savage Garden. BTW, the horses names are: Takhys fast, Leukippos white horse. Sorry, not very creative. 


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I officially own the following- nothing, zip, zilch, nada, nein, etc. Don't sue.

ZELINA-- Mythology buddy! (hugs) I'm glad you're liking it so far, please keep reading!

FlamingMushroomz-- Thanks for the compliment on my writing. I'm in college right now, so I don't have the time I'd like to work on anything original, so I do this for a "writing exercise." And to your question about reviewers... I dunno, I guess I need to ask for my readers to do more "word of mouth" or whatever to spread the word. ;-)

wild-vixen-- You caught me on the chess. (blushes) I know the Greeks/Trojans had something similiar to it, but I could not find out or remember what it is called... Oh well. Glad you're liking the story so far!

shariena-- Here you go, hon! Next update, and I think you'll recognize one of the men here... And sorry, I can't tell you if anyone will die or not. It'll spoil any surprises. ;-)

**

* * *

The Temple of Apollo, Three Days Later**

Entering the temple reminded Petra why she missed her weekly visits. The serenity washed over her gently, calming her thoughts and inner confusion of the past few months. She stepped out of the sunlight and into the comforting coolness of the building, her gaze towards the glittering statue at the end of the hall. Her breath caught at the beauty of the craftsmanship.

At her side, Briseis tapped her arm. "I must attend to my duties," she whispered. She used as little words as possible to avoid interrupting her cousin's worship. "Will you be all right?"

Not wanting to speak and disturb the atmosphere, Petra nodded.

She continued her slow pace down the floor towards Apollo's statue. When she reached the base, she bowed into a crouch and began the typical prayers of praise to the sun god. Ever since her mother's death, Petra found these actions comforting in ways no one else could understand. It had nothing to do with her religious beliefs; in truth, she barely agreed with her father sometimes about Apollo's might. But these traditions brought back the few comforting memories of her mother.

The solemn words of extolling slipped off of her tongue in habit. But her concentration kept her from hearing the bells tolling like signs of doom outside.

One soldier, sent by Priam to protect his daughter, hesitated at the door. "Should we do something?" he whispered to his Captain.

The captain glanced back at the bowing royal and shook his head silently. They could not interrupt her worship, but they could be prepared. Then he saw the ships on the horizon.

Her praises done, Petra began her purpose for this trip. "Apollo," she began, "please give me guidance. My father cannot decide upon a marriage for me. Hector will never force me into any union. Paris is a romantic boy who cannot understand the ways of the world. What can I do?" Her hand caressed the cold stone.

Looking up, she saw the blank expression of the deity.

"Can you even hear me?" she demanded desperately.

Outside, she heard yells and screams, interrupting her thoughts. Then a clear word reached her ears, freezing her blood.

"Achilles! Achilles!"

Petra stopped. Achilles was the commander of the Myrmidons, the fiercest warriors of the Aegean and Greece. Absolute terror shot through her, making her hands visibly shake. _Dear gods, why today_…

Pulling herself together, she quickly finished her prayer. "Merciful Apollo, we have always given you the reverence you deserve," she whispered, wiping her damp palms on her plain dress she had chosen. Hector had advised it, to avoid any incidences with Paris' old flirtations. "Please protect us now, in our hour of need." She stepped away, then paused. "And please give our men the victory against those marauding barbarians. Thank you."

Now finished, she stood, scanning the room for potential weapons. Sadly, the temple of Apollo had very few objects that could really do any damage for self-defense purposes. She wished now that she had brought her hip dagger (another gift from Hector) for protection.

"My lady!" Her entourage of soldiers had entered. She nodded.

"Captain, take your men outside and aid the men on the beach," she ordered. Jutting her chin out, she spoke with determination. "We must not let the Greeks near the temple of Apollo for the city's morale!"

"Yes, my lady." To argue could mean his life and it was now common knowledge that the princess knew how to protect herself. Before leaving, however, the Captain hesitated, then hurried over to her, unbuckling his sword. He handed it to her solemnly.

Petra nodded again, accepting it gladly. "Thank you. Now go."

She watched them go, biting her lip nervously. Hopefully, they could hold back the Greeks until reinforcement arrived, if any did. She slid the sword out and let out a few test swings. It was heavier than she was used to, unfortunately, but it would do. She hurried out of the main room to find a better place of defense.

Throughout the temple she could sense the panic. But the priests tried to continue their prayers despite this. However, she could not find Briseis anywhere.

* * *

**Outside the Temple**

Hector flinched violently. But he could hardly help it, for who had ever seen a man hurl a spear that far and kill his target? For the first time since his arrival to the beach he felt the tinkling of trepidation down his spine.

Fighting back his panic with the metaphorical broom, he led his men towards where the spear-thrower had gone—into the Temple of Apollo.

The steps were littered with Trojan bodies. Each man had obviously not expected his gruesome death, apparent on their faces. The men tried to step respectfully around the carcasses.

As Hector passed, one man he had assumed dead suddenly lunged and grabbed his nearest leg. "Zeus!" Hector jumped, then knelt with shock. It was the captain who had escorted Petra to her… _Dear gods_. "What happened?" he demanded as he helped the poor man sit up to speak.

"M-my… my lord… forgive… me…" The man tried to talk through his blood-stained lips, sweat mingled with his life water on his face. He choked and shook as he attempted again.

"Shh, be calm, my friend." Hector tried to comfort the dying man, but had no idea what to do. "You did well."

"I…" The soldier struggled for strength. "I gave… her… my sword… She told… she… she…" A cough interrupted him, splattering blood.

"Who? Who told you?" Hector demanded with growing panic.

"She's… still… here." And with that, the captain traveled to the river Styx, knowing he had failed his country and his lord.

Staring at the new corpse in horror, Hector finally shouted orders.

"Lady Petra is somewhere inside. Find her!"

The Trojans hurried inside, for Petra, despite her absence from their training barracks, was still a comrade-in-arms and a member of the royal family. Hector joined them, pushing up to the front to scan the dark for any sign of his sister.

What he saw broke his heart. Apollo's priests lay strewn all over the floor, slain by Greeks. But none of the bodies were Petra. Where was she?

Then a bellow broke the silence.

Out of the shadows came waves upon waves of the Myrmidons, each attacking to the best of his ability (which was great). Anger poured like molted lava through Hector. He did not yell nor even speak, but made quick movements to slay whoever attempted anything against him.

Hector reached the end of the hall, where Apollo lay in ruins. A voice spoke out of the darkness.

"You're either very brave or very stupid to come after me alone."

* * *

**Elsewhere**

"Briseis!" Petra shouted, running through the halls. Where could she be? Back when they were children, Briseis always hid the worst when they played games, where would she hide… oh dear. Petra headed to the rooms containing jeweled tributes to Apollo. _There_ she spotted her cousin.

"Briseis!" Briseis looked up from her position underneath a table holding the chalices used for formal ceremony. "Come, we need to find another place for you. They'll find you in two blinks here!" Grabbing her cousin's arm, Petra dragged her, protesting, out of the treasure-laden room in the direction of the kitchens.

Screaming priestesses and worshippers ran past them, clawing out towards the door. Petra winced when one overly panicked woman scratched her across the left cheek, but she pressed on. They finally reached the empty rooms.

A quick scan confirmed her hopes- no one would come here. The air still contained the unpleasant stench of recently butchered meat, probably for one of the sacrifices.

"Hide here." Petra tucked Briseis into one of the closets. "Stay until everyone's gone, then run to the city. Promise me!"

"Bu… But you…"

"I'll be fine," Petra lied, hugging her cousin for what she was sure would be the last time. "I'll join you there."

She covered Briseis with the empty sacks then hurried back towards the main room. Her hand gripped the sword again, adjusting her hold on the weapon. Some high cries and shouts reached her ears but she ignored it; she listened for anything close-by that indicated the Greeks infiltrating the temple.

Once near the front, she could hear rough Greek. She slowed her breathing and listened. Her heart sank when their words confirmed her suspicions:

"_We really have made it big this time_!"

"_Indeed! Achilles will be pleased with this bounty_!"

Swallowing, Petra knelt and attempted to crawl past them. If she could make a run for it, perhaps… In her bulk, however, her sword knocked over an urn, making a loud crash. She swore under her breath before pushing herself up and running. The two Greeks caught sight of her.

* * *

**Outside **

Hector left angrily at Achilles' tsk, taking a shortcut through the kitchens to the outside. Under his breath, he cursed all Greeks to Hades and back.

"Blasphemous murdering snake eating-"

"Hector?"

He froze when he heard a familiar voice. "Briseis?"

The priestess let out a cry of relief. "Hector! I'm in here!" He followed her voice to the pantry, opening it to reveal his now-dirty and frightened cousin.

Throwing her arms around him, Briseis sobbed. "Petra told me to hide until tonight then run to the palace, and then she left, and I could hear Greeks- oh, Hector!" she wailed into his chest.

His heart sank when she told him of Petra's part in her hiding place, but he only smiled for Briseis's sake.

"You did well, Briseis," he said soothingly.

"Did you find Petra, too?" she asked hopefully.

"Let's get you home." Hector purposefully pretended to not hear her. "Once we're in Troy, you can tell me everything." They hurried out to join the retreat to Troy.

* * *

**Inside the Temple**

"Hey, you there!"

The soldiers chased her, and Petra inwardly thanked her father for forcing the family to come here so often. She could run through this building blind-folded.

However, she was not used to the dead bodies strewn everywhere. She choked back a cry at seeing her old friends, the priests of Apollo, peaceful men, lying slain all over the floors. Her blood boiled inwardly at this. They covered two whole floors.

She turned and faced her pursuers, surprising them. "You killed defenseless men!" she shouted, wielding her sword. "_Animals_!"

Every lesson Hector had given her came back as one advanced.

The lead Myrmidon lunged forward, sword scything towards her throat. Petra ducked under the blade and lashed out with her foot; her foot connected painfully hard with the Greek's knee, letting out a sickening crack that echoed through the hall.

Screaming in pain and collapsing on one of the fallen priest's corpses, he still vainly tried to rise again, only to fall with a whimper at his broken leg. Petra used the opportunity to scramble to her feet. Without sparing a second thought, she drove her blade into the man's unprotected armpit with all of her might. The blade slid in smoothly, slaying him noiselessly. _Charon will be busy today_, she thought grimly.

With slow but purposeful intent, she turned with eyes blazing at the now lone Myrmidon. "Who are you?" the survivor gasped, gawking. Her eyes narrowed at him, scaring him even more.

Slowly, she raised her sword, pointing at him.

"A loyal servant of Apollo's, no doubt," a voice said from behind her. Twirling around in impulse, Petra found herself caught in the gaze of the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

Nevertheless, she had no time to contemplate blue-eyed men.

Reacting from instinct, she attempted a blow at his wrist. Without looking away from her eyes, he blocked it, then disarmed her. Her sword hit the ground with a loud clatter that made her jump and him chuckle.

His amused look only angered her. "Now are you going to kill me," she demanded, "once I'm unarmed and helpless?"

"You, my lady," he informed her, "are far from helpless."

Before she could respond, a hand grabbed the back of her neck. She jerked a hand up in an attempt to free herself, only for her eyes to glaze over and her body to fall limp.

The last thing she was aware of was the blue-eyed devil swooping down to catch her in his arms.

Achilles looked down from the limp woman in his arms to the soldier who had knocked her unconscious. "Why did you do that?" he demanded in annoyance.

"M… my lord," the man stammered with confusion, "She was going to kill you."

Sighing, Achilles shook his head. "No, she wasn't," he said softly, looking down at her insensible form. "Take her to Agamemnon's tent, with the other things you found." The soldier nodded, opening his arms. He grunted in surprise when she felt light.

The Pthian watched her go thoughtfully before he headed out to where the ships were landing.

As far as the eye could see, Greek ships kept sailing up from the crystal blue waters onto the white sands of Troy, with men jumping to the ground only to find the battle over. In disappointment, they half-heartedly helped their countrymen land.

Ajax, the giant, hurried towards Achilles and slapped the prince's back. "You are as fearless as the gods!" the man declared sincerity shining on his honest, rough features. "I am honored to go to war with you."

"As am I," Achilles replied absently, "I look forward to seeing your skills with an axe."

Grinning at Achilles, Ajax returned to his men, roaring orders happily.

Achilles kept walking until he spotted Odysseus. "If you'd rowed slower, you would have missed the war!" he scolded.

"I don't mind missing the start," Odysseus retorted cheerfully, "so long as I'm here at the end." Achilles paused in his pace, shaking his friend's hand. Odysseus pulled his friend close and spoke in a low tone. "I doubt anyone will ever forget your grand entrance onto Troy's shores."

"That's what I planned," Achilles shrugged nonchalantly. If his actions angered Agamemnon, well, that was just a bonus in his opinion. "How was your wife?"

Odysseus' smile faded slightly. "She was not too happy I left so soon after our son's birth. She's afraid I'll miss him growing up."

"Well, then, we'll have to hurry to finish this for you," Achilles responded. He always had been fond of Penelope, and disliked seeing his friend in trouble. "I look forward to meeting…"

"Telemachus," Odysseus supplied.

"Good strong name. May he be as clever as his father."

Smiling, Odysseus replied, "From your lips to the gods' ears, my friend." He hurried to shout his own orders to his men. Achilles smiled and shook his head, walking off towards his own camp.

The Myrmidons had been busy after finishing the battle; the whole camp had been set up and now the men started building fire pits and polishing their armor. A few yards away, Eudorus shouted orders as six men dragged the ship closer to shore.

"Cousin!" Patroclus jumped off the ship and hurried to Achilles' side. "We took Apollo's temple! Surely this will discourage the Trojans!" he added hopefully.

"Either that, or infuriate them," Achilles predicted, "then they'll act careless."

"My lord!" Eudorus approached from the shore. "King Agamemnon requests your presence in his tent. All the kings are gathering to celebrate the victory." He gestured towards a large, ridiculously-ornate marquee. The symbol of Mycenae hung on a post outside the tent.

Achilles rolled his eyes at the sight. Agamemnon's ego would only get him a slit throat. A fool could tell that the king of Mycenae must dwell there.

But he only nodded at his lieutenant. "You fought well today."

Surprised at the rare compliment, Eudorus only said, "My lord," and excused himself.

Patroclus almost bounced on his feet impatiently. "Well, Cousin?"

To his surprise, Achilles motioned him closer. Curious, Patroclus leaned in to hear his cousin's whisper:

"Go to the tent where the men put the spoils and get the bag of cups there. Bring them to Agamemnon's tent as quickly as possible, along with half of the men's plunder." Achilles patted his cousin's back. "Do not fail me."

"I won't," the boy promised, puzzled.

Achilles watched Patroclus hurry before sighing and stepping into his own tent. He ignored the setup and only rinsed off some of the blood stains on his skin and change into a fresh black tunic. He took his time, letting Agamemnon fume.

* * *

**Agamemnon's Tent**

Moaning softly, Petra opened her eyes to see the room she was in sway. "Oooh…" Her words were muffled by the gag at her mouth.

She blinked slowly until the room came into focus. Apparently, she was tied to one of the edge posts of a tent, the one of royalty—she recognized the be-jeweled cups and rich tapestries from Hector and Paris' returns as Greek treasure. A polished set of armor leaned against a carved throne, looking like it had rarely seen battle. Perhaps this was Agamemnon's tent.

"Ah, our young Amazon's awake." The dark male voice that reached her ears made her tense. A figure knelt in front of her. _Agamemnon_.

His ugly features and leering eyes distorted her face reflexively into repulsion but she fixed them quickly. To survive here, she could not reveal her true status in Troy. Besides, if Agamemnon's reputation had any shards of truth to it, he would make her suffer to bring her father to his knees.

The rumors surrounding Agamemnon never described his hideous appearance. A jagged scar covered one cheek, with a bristly and braided beard surrounding his head. Two beady little eyes peered out at her.

"Aren't you a beauty?" Agamemnon breathed, his hand cupping her jaw. She stiffened. "I've never seen such eyes…"

"They're just eyes," a bored and bitter voice interrupted Agamemnon's musings. "Just like any other woman's." Petra caught the man slamming down a wine goblet on the other side of the tent onto a table from the corner of her eye.

_He must be Menelaus_. Petra felt a swell of pity for Helen.

"You are looking on the outside, Brother," Agamemnon disagreed, his eyes devouring her slim figure. "Look at the potential." He cupped her chin again.

Fighting back the urge to gag, Petra only shrank from him, shaking her head adamantly. It only made the carnal Mycenaean smirk.

"Perhaps later," Agamemnon planned, "I'll have her give me a bath. After that…" he picked up a strand of her hair and inhaled deeply as he held it to his nose, "who knows?"

_I can't wait to see my brothers put your head on a spike_.

"Mmm, she smells sweet." The chuckle he gave made Petra's stomach lurch in alarm.

"She's just a whore, just like any other woman," Menelaus muttered.

"Oh, now, brother, don't be so bitter. I'll give her to you first, after the meeting tonight," Agamemnon offered. The other kings had started drifting in on the other side of the tent to emphasize his point.

"Eh…" Menelaus considered her. His cruel eyes cut into her deeply. "Why not?" he shrugged after a moment. "I'll break her."

Nodding, Agamemnon rose to his feet and walked forward to greet his fellow fighters. Petra was alone in her corner. She felt a lone tear fall down her cheek and glared at the floor. She had to keep herself together if she had any chance of escaping now!

A shadow fell over her during her musings. She looked up and froze in alarm.

It was the blue-eyed demon from the temple!

He, however, knelt next to her and undid the gag at her mouth gently. "The monster," he muttered, frowning at her bound state. His hands dropped after touching the gag, never going beyond propriety.

"Thank you," she mumbled, trying to wet her dry mouth by swallowing.

Before he could say anything to her, someone called out, "Achilles!" He looked up in response.

Petra's heart went from relieved to terrified. This man, who had held her life in his hands at the temple of Apollo, was the mighty warrior Achilles of Pthia? Why was she still alive?

One of the men signaled for him to rejoin the group.

"Pardon me," he excused himself, rising to his feet slowly.

"You're asking the wrong person," she said stiffly. "Apollo probably won't forget your sacrilege, anyway."

Instead of becoming incensed like Agamemnon or Menelaus would be, Achilles smiled at her spirit. "You must be royalty," he only said, before joining his comrades.

"Wha…" But it was too late, he had left.

Achilles paused before giving his full interest to the speech-making, glancing back at the girl. She had apparently let go to her confusion of him, because she now scanned the entire tent, looking for some means of escape. _Resourceful, skilled with a sword_- she already intrigued him beyond any other woman he had ever met. He returned his attention to Agamemnon.

Unfortunately, Agamemnon had decided to give an uplifting speech about their future victory on the city of Troy, which sounded suspiciously like the one given on Mycenae's shores before the mass launching.

Odysseus caught Achilles' eye and rolled his own each time Agamemnon made some dramatic gesture to emphasis. Achilles nodded.

The other kings, however, sat enthralled to Agamemnon's spell.

Finally extremely bored and annoyed, Achilles stood and cut Agamemnon off mid-word. "We have heard your boasts before, king of Mycenae, and my men wait for me to return before retiring for the night. So our men don't fail from exhaustion during our _future_ glories, may we move on to the real purpose of this gathering?" He crossed his arms over his chest in a silent challenge.

"How dare you…!" Agamemnon sputtered at this show of insolence.

"Perhaps we _should_ start," Odysseus interjected hastily in an attempt to keep the peace. "The men _are_ exhausted, and we could-"

"Fine!" Agamemnon snarled, quite put out at Achilles stealing his glory. It was no secret to anyone in the tent that the two leaders shared huge animosity towards the other. "Shall we begin the dividing, then?" His sullenness disappeared as soon as the gold and silver started to emerge.

The dividing occurred all too quickly for the hostage in the corner, who had tried to use the time for some escape. Now she had nothing.

With despair, she watched the concluding argument between Sparta and Ithaca come to a halt, with Odysseus still holding the same amount of treasure as at the beginning.

It was now Achilles' turn. He signaled for Patroclus, bringing forward the bags brimming full of treasure. Each of the other kings leaned forward to get a first glimpse of the hidden plunder. Achilles opened the sacks to reveal the shine of precious metals.

"I have already kept half for my men," he announced, "for their hard work this morning. This, however, is my personal share." He pulled out one goblet, inwardly relieved at Agamemnon's obvious and practical state of drooling at the gleaming stones. "Taken directly from Apollo's temple," he added coaxingly, "used to appease the patron god of Troy."

"Indeed, a real treasure," Agamemnon agreed, eagerly.

"And I am willing to give them to you," Achilles continued, "under one condition."

Agamemnon and the other kings frowned at that, confused, including Odysseus. "What would that be?" the king of Mycenae asked, his eyes never strayed from the cups.

"You have something I want."

To everyone's (including Petra's) surprise, Achilles walked across the tent and knelt next to her.

* * *

A/N: Ooooh, what's going to happen next? I have to confess, I did "steal" some ideas from the story "Please, Achilles, Please," one of the fanfictions here (I can't remember who wrote it, but go read-- it's good!). Other than that, though, I'm trying to keep it original as my work.

Oh, and if nobody reviews... (sinister glances) I won't write! So there!

Just kidding, but please review, I really appreciate the comments... except when there is no constructive criticism behind it.


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: Still own nothing. Nope, nothing. Don't sue me.

Thanks to all my reviewers... To those who wanted to know why Petra knows swordplay, it shall be explained soon, I promise... I just haven't found a way to introduce it yet, I'm trying to drop subtle hints until the final explanation comes out and you all go "Oooh, that explains it!" :-)

* * *

"The **_girl_**?" Agamemnon found his voice. "You want **_her_**?"

"Yes, King." Achilles rose from his position crouched next to the girl and arched an eyebrow at him. "Her, for those chalices you so desire."

In any other circumstance, Agamemnon would see the veiled insult about his greed and start an argument with Achilles. But the comment rang true; Agamemnon wanted anything that glittered, and would eventually give in to his insatiability. After staring at the golden goblets for a while, his answer came.

"Fine, yes! Take her!" Agamemnon waved Achilles away impatiently. He started to reach for the cups.

"Brother!" Menelaus objected loudly, jarring Agamemnon's temporary victory and gold-lust. "You promised her to _me_, remember? _I_ want her!" he whined. His manner reminded one of a toddler throwing a tantrum after his toy had been given away.

Achilles saw the girl flinch and try to squirm away at that. His jaw tightened. What had those two buffoons done to the fierce fighter he had encountered in the temple?

But he pushed it back. To earn her freedom, he needed to keep this encounter as impersonal as possible. Otherwise he would never get her.

He tilted his head to the side and watched Agamemnon with one brow arched, his arms crossed over his chest, and a slight smirk forming onto his face. Every outer sign showed that this mattered little to him, except on the concubine and status level. He silently thanked the gods that he had never let anyone know his intentions to keep celibate during his stay.

"Brother," Agamemnon had pulled Menelaus to the side and now spoke to him coaxingly, "Achilles will eventually take her, if he wants her enough. You know that he cannot be controlled. Besides, those chalices…" Both men looked over at the sack of glittering treasures.

Menelaus frowned, still unconvinced. His gluttony was less than his brother's; he wanted to punish the woman for being female.

"I shall find you another!" Agamemnon pleaded desperately. "She is not nearly as beautiful as _half_ the females we have found before! I'll let you have the first pick at our next raid."

Hesitating, Menelaus gnawed on his lip thoughtfully. "Is that a promise?"

"On my honor, Brother." Agamemnon gave him an urgent look.

That satisfied the king of Sparta. "Fine, he can have the damn girl," he relented with a growl. He glanced back at the girl once more with a glare.

She only looked away at the wall.

Accepting this gracious approval, Achilles leaned down as he slid his knife out from his belt. The girl's eyes widened and she tried desperately to move as far away from him as possible.

"Shh," he said, softly so the others would not hear, and gave her an encouraging smile. "I will not harm you."

He cut the binds at the girl's wrists before she could blink as to avoid causing further panic. She gradually brought them to her front and gingerly touched them, wincing in pain at the raw skin. Achilles' eyes darkened at that, but he only crouched next to her and never let his expression change.

"Can you walk at all?" he asked gently, ignoring her flinch.

She stared at him, surprise and disbelief written on her face. Slowly, she responded with a nod.

"All right." He rose to his own feet and offered a hand up, which she accepted with a grace and elegance belying her dirtied state. When she stood, Achilles now saw her dark hair falling from its previously tidy state to halfway down her back. It reached her waist and looked so soft and shiny…

She took one step towards him and almost stumbled from exhaustion.

Patroclus, from his corner of the tent, looked from his cousin to Odysseus for an explanation, but the king of Ithaca stared with narrowed eyes at his friend, deep in thought.

Always, Odysseus saw his young friend carelessly choose his pick from wherever they went for war, in every decision: which buildings to raid, what wines to drink, where to pitch his tent, what women to bed that night… The list went on.

But Achilles never gave any consort of his the gentle treatment that he now gave this Trojan girl, who he had never clapped eyes on before today.

Meanwhile Achilles held the girl's forearm to help steady her. When she started to collapse, he tucked one arm under her legs and caught her. Cradling her against his chest with a tenderness none had ever seen in him before, Achilles carried her to the door and out in the direction of the Myrmidon encampment.

His sure and steady strides gave the appearance to others that she weighed almost nothing. Exhausted, she rested her head on his broad shoulders. He glanced down at her every few steps to make sure she still was in one piece and suffering no injury she tried to hide from him.

Petra floated in and out of consciousness, taking in pieces of him sleepily- his long gold mane of hair, his strong arms around her, and his chiseled features.

When her head jerked up again to avoid sleep, he chuckled softly. "Sleep, little one," he murmured. "You've had a long day."

"Mmm…" She sighed and blinked. "I mustn't… in enemy camp…"

Achilles tsked with his tongue. "Rest," he ordered. And this time she gave no argument.

By the time they were at his tent, she was fast asleep with no dreams.

* * *

**The Palace of Troy**

The palace, which had earlier been bustling with the sounds of war, now only contained stifled moans and cries of mourning. Prince Hector had returned with his cousin, safe and sound, but the fate of the Princess of Troy was now unknown.

Outside whispers spread through the gossipy nobles. Each shook their heads solemnly and spoke of how such a wild girl deserved such a fate.

"_Poor thing, motherless for so long…" "No good out of it…" "Three men raising a girl on their own…" "Should have known better…" "Too late now, pity_…" Their vicious yet well-meant words started to move throughout the city, where the simple folk only shook their heads with dismay.

Servants in the palace tried to continue their daily routines, only pausing to dab damp cloths at their eyes.

Outside at the stables, Alexis the groomsman coughed and gruffly shouted at the two weepy stable boys, "Put your backs into it, lads!" They sniffled and, nodding, attempted to finish their chores. "Poor lady Petra," Alexis muttered to himself. "She never hurt anyone…"

He glanced up towards the main building of the palace, wondering how Hector and his family were taking it. If the love he and his sister always shared before and after their rides was any indication, things would be pretty bleak inside right now.

His assessment was not far from the truth. In the throne room, each royal, with the exception of Astyanax, came together for support. In the center of the room, Andromache held Briseis while Hector and Paris stood over them with the helplessness of a confused and also-grieving male. Priam only stared out the window with the glaze of tears in his eyes.

"She promised me she would be fine!" Briseis wept, her whole body shaking with abandoned control. "She _promised_ me!" she insisted over and over until her cries overcame her and she collapsed.

Despite her own tears threatening to choke her, Andromache wrapped her arms around her cousin in an attempt at comfort. Her son had already gone to bed for the night, blissfully unaware that his favorite playmate, his aunt, would no longer enjoy their romps together. But she kept her grief inside. Once she helped comfort others, she could let herself mourn for the first friend she had in her new home, as Petra would do.

A whisper of hope inspired her to look up at her husband for some assurance. He, after all, had been at the temple when it was taken and had rescued Briseis. Perhaps he could give them some peace.

Hector only shook his head in remorse, though. "All of the priests were dead," he spoke without emotion. "If she was lucky, she died quickly."

A wail escaped the sobbing priestess in his wife's arms, burying her face in the folds Andromache's mourning dress. Andromache's hand trembling rose to cup her own mouth, trying to hold in her grief desperately.

Priam sank onto his throne, looking twenty years older from when his son returned with the news. "Are you sure?" His voice cracked as he beseeched his eldest. His eyes begged for any shred of optimism or relief from the idea that his and Hecuba's youngest lay dead in the temple.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Hector tried to speak relief. "She might have escaped," he offered as his hand covered his father's trembling one. "Before he died, her guard told me he gave her his blade for defense." But Priam only moaned lowly in his throat and buried his face in his hands. Muffled phrases met his children's ears.

"My daughter… Mine, and Hecuba's…"

Sobs and mourning filled the vast room. Outside the funeral pyres smoked incense and burning flesh in offers of desperation for Petra's ghost, to cross the river Styx. In one lonely corner of the throne room, Helen stared at the grieving family, guilt choking her.

"This is my fault," she whispered to herself so no one could hear her own self-blaming; "If only I hadn't come here."

Her keen ears picking up this sound, Andromache looked up. "Oh, Helen…" her voice faltered and she only opened her arms. The Spartan queen fell into her new sister-in-law's arms, weeping openly now. "Petra would not let you blame yourself," the future queen murmured, stroking the blonde hair with one hand and holding her close.

"You only gave Agamemnon an excuse," Hector added grimly. "He has had his eye on us for years." That only made the crying keen harder.

"Besides," Paris final spoke for the first time since Hector returned, his eyes still swollen and wet, "I was the one that took you from your husband. I brought this war upon us." Tracks of tears glistened on his cheeks.

"Paris-" his father tried to speak but stopped himself before losing control of his emotions.

"I should be the one punished," Paris continued, ignoring his father. "When the mourning period is over, I'll challenge Menelaus on my own. This is between him and me, over Helen." Helen's panicked eyes met Priam's. "The winner gets Helen."

"No!" Priam stood and grabbed Paris by the shoulders, shaking him hard. "I've lost one child today; I will not lose another to that _rabble_!"

"Father!" Paris stared into his eyes. "_I_ lost her. Let me stop this."

"Will this needless slaughter bring her back?" Priam shouted. "Will this save herself in Hades for eternity, son?"

"No," Paris met his father's gaze fiercely. "But it will help end this."

He stepped away, letting his father's arm fall limp. As Paris left them and out of the room, Helen started to shake. "N…No… No!" she cried, trying to crawl to him. "He'll kill you! **_Paris_**!"

Hector felt his heart starting to shatter in his chest. In his heart of hearts, he knew the outcome of any battle between Paris and Helen's jealous husband: it would end with his brother's dead body covered in dust, and the Greeks attacking a now shell-shocked and even weaker Troy. But he fought the welling ache.

Andromache slowly stood and walked over to him. Her hands touched his face in a gentle act of help, before she enveloped him in her embrace and silently wept. The moment she put her arms around him, he crumbled, letting his own arms grasp his tiny wife as an anchor while the waves and waves of pain lashed over him again and again. He felt her own form shaking and they comforted each other.

He knew he would never see his sister again in this world.

* * *

"_No! I will not let you take my daughter!"_

"_You have little say in the matter, Trojan whore!"_

"_Petra, run…" A blood-freezing scream shook her whole soul._

"_**Mama**!"_

Gasping, Petra jerked upwards into a sitting position with her hands reaching in front of her to claw at empty air. Sweat dripped down her face as she tried to calm down her frantically-beating heart, reorienting herself once again with her new surroundings.

This time, she could not possibly be in Agamemnon's tent. The setting did not have the bad taste and flamboyant look of the Mycenaean king's dwelling. Underneath her, soft fleeces covered with even softer blankets covered only a fraction of the smooth sand of the beach. A tapestry lay on the ground in a spot near the door, perhaps for visitors to sit, but otherwise Troy's white grains worked as a floor. A table stood near the door, holding several shields and armory. Few decorations adorned the whole room.

Apparently Achilles saw the foolishness in Agamemnon's choices in loudly pronouncing which tent he occupied. Unfortunately, that meant that escape would be even trickier, for the warrior was no idiot, if half of his legacy was true as she strongly suspected.

Speaking of the monster… Another glance around confirmed his current absence from the tent. How long would he be gone? Her groggy head refused to think clearly but she fought to keep herself coherent.

She slowly stood and looked again. The small stand next to the bed held a goblet that smelled like very fine wine, not the coarse beer that Trojan soldiers preferred. Her stomach grumbled in reminder that she had not eaten since… how long _had_ she slept?

It did not matter. She could not eat any enemy's food. She had to escape this tent, find some quick way back to Troy, and possibly discover the approximate force of the Greeks for her father and Hector. Satisfied with this, she took a step towards the weapons.

Before she could bring her half-made plan into action, the tent flap moved aside and revealed the owner of it.

In his armor, with dirt and blood smudged all over him, Achilles looked every bit the savage lion-like killer rumor had created. When he spotted her, a pleasant smile curved onto his striking features.

Petra took an involuntary step backwards while eying him warily.

"Good morning." Achilles tilted his head. "Did you sleep well?" Her look of disbelief at his greeting and inquiry made him chuckle. Did she expect him to walk in and, seeing her, molest her?

Her temper flared from being the obvious object of his amusement. Before she could stop herself, she asked sarcastically, "Have you been out killing more of my countrymen today, or have you kept to unarmed civilians, seeing how successful that was for you yesterday?"

Apparently he had expected this, for he did not pick up his sword and chop her head off in a righteous fit of anger. Instead he shrugged and replied, "We were burning yesterday's victims, with the aid of Ithaca's warriors. Agamemnon would let the dead stay there, rotting without proper burials." His face clouded with anger at this, but he shook it off.

Petra stared at him wide-eyed. Was the man _lying_ to her? Achilles of Pthia would never treat his victims to the courtesy of a funeral! He would butcher them cruelly before he skinned them and drank their blood…

Then the scent of funeral incense aroused her senses. Achilles smirked at her wrinkled nose and turned to start unbuckling his sandals.

"What is your name, girl?" he asked over his shoulder.

Before Petra could respond, he moved from his shoes to his breastplate. A shocked gasp escaped her lips and she felt her cheeks start to turn bright red with embarrassment. Was he going to _undress_ right in front of her?

Achilles paused and looked over at her. "Did you not hear-" He saw her expression and quickly realized her problem, although he still had no idea what was going through her head and therefore was still wrong.

Having two brothers, Petra was not clueless to the appearance of a male chest (she had, after all, spent most of her childhood around the military of Troy), but Achilles was no relation or friend to her. In fact, she still had no idea what his intentions were towards her, honorable or dishonorable. She met his eyes, her own flamed with indignation.

This confirmed Achilles' inner assessment of her status. Each clue drifted through his consciousness. Despite the plain fashion and now-torn state of her robes, her gown was made of rich material. She carried herself with the rare confidence of a well-off young woman. And she spoke with an equally rare wit. She had to be royalty. And to top that off, she looked completely shocked at the sight of a man undressing.

His conclusion: she was a royal virgin, who had not yet been married off despite her years of (he guessed) eighteen. The thought irrationally pleased him, despite her continued sparking and fighting against him, except for those few moments where their eyes met and the world seemed to stop.

"I apologize," he said to her with a smile, "but unless you want me to smell foul all day, I'll have to ask you to turn your head."

At his words, she turned and faced the wall, sitting down on the sand. He shook his head while he quickly undressed, wrapping a loin guard around his waist when done. With any other woman, he would barely care about her sensibilities. But no other woman had attempted to stab him when cornered or out-rightly disapproved of his warring actions. They were usually frightened to death of him, or sensually intoxicated with his legend, both disgusting him to extremes.

"So what is your name?" he asked again, walking over to her side. She did not respond. He shook his head with disappointment; did she still not trust him, despite his actions the whole day? But his rational side reminded him that she not only had to deal with the new fact that she now was a captive to her enemy, but also was learning the falsehood of his reputation.

When he was closer, he saw her contemplative gaze at the walls. He knelt down behind her.

"I wouldn't, if I were you. It's safer here than out there."

She almost snorted at that instead of jumping at his close proximity to her body. "I grew up here. I doubt any Greek would know my country better than me!"

"You're royalty," Achilles stated. He saw her tense at that, confirming his statement. "You've spent your life on these shores, tending to the temple every time Priam ordered, never being able to leave these shores." His hand reached out and touched her hair.

Recoiling, she leaned away from the unwelcome (and unsolicited) touch on her tresses.

Achilles brought a strand to his nose, leaning forward to take in her scent. It slid through his calloused fingers like silk, and smelled of jasmine. He inhaled deeply and then dropped it, sitting back. "You must be. Your scent gives you away."

_Don't answer, don't answer_, she kept reminding herself. _Think of Andromache, of Hector, of Astyanax, of Paris, of Helen, their safety_…

_Please give me an answer_, Achilles inwardly implored. _Trust me_.

"You killed Apollo's priests, men of peace, who dedicated their lives to the gods," she finally said. "They did _nothing_ to you."

Her voice broke at that, her head sinking. That hurt Achilles more than he cared to admit. Refusing to wonder why and letting his hand touch her chin, he turned her to face him. Awkwardly she slid around so she did not strain her neck at an uncomfortable angle.

"I've killed soldiers, kings, men who fight," he said solemnly. "_Never_ a priest." And he shook his head for emphasis.

"Then your men did," she whispered and tried to shake off his hand. It made no difference that his blade had not been tainted with religious blood. A lone tear fell down her cheek at the unbidden memory of her friends' fates and the grotesque sacrilege heaped upon the dwelling of Apollo. "They did not deserve that death."

His thumb brushed the drop away. He brought it to his mouth, tasting it. "I'm sorry," he admitted. At her shaking head, he cupped the side of her face. "Truly. I've never condoned the killing of the innocent, but my men lose their heads in the heat of battle. I'll speak to them about this at our next meet." He grinned when she tilted her head at him in confusion. "Do you not believe me?"

Petra's heart skipped when he offered a hesitant smile. But she only frowned at him. "You, my lord, are an overwhelming paradox," she said clearly with a shake of her head.

Achilles leaned closer, their foreheads touching. "You have no idea."

Her breath caught at his provocative statement and move, but she could not for the life of her look away from those hypnotic blue orbs. He sucked in a breath before exhaling, the breeze brushing her lips gently.

"What are you doing to me?" she asked in a low voice. His one hand rose to tangle into her hair tenderly. Her eyes started to drift shut…

"My lord!" Someone called him from outside, interrupting the moment.

To both their disappointments, Achilles sat back on his haunches and called back reluctantly, "Enter!" His eyes never left hers, however. A few maids carried in steaming tubs of water and left them near the entrance. One peeked at Petra and giggled.

Petra felt her cheeks burn. Surely now everybody believed her to be his concubine. And could she blame them? She had almost kissed him! Him, a Greek and the enemy of her people! Oh, surely Apollo would punish her for such wanton actions towards the desecrator of his temple! She closed her eyes in an attempt to hide her shame.

However, her captor was an observant man. Achilles had seen her reaction to the maid's actions and inwardly fumed at how many steps that one giggle spell had taken him back. Making a mental note to reprimand the girl sharply later when he had the time, he only curtly dismissed his serving women and turned his back to his captive.

He started to slip off the loin guard in order to give himself a true and proper bathing now, and then caught himself. "You may want to look away again." He heard her shuffle back to her original position of facing the wall.

He walked over to the tubs, soaked a sponge in the water, and dropped his tunic to the ground, wiping away the grime and gore from his earlier actions. Instead of using each of the five tubs just brought in and dirtying all the water, though, he only chose one and thoroughly cleansed himself. He wondered as he bathed what on earth was going through his captive's mind.

If he had known, he might not have been so swift in his washing.

The splashing water reminded Petra that there was a _very_ naked and _very_ dangerous man in the tent with her. She swallowed and hugged her knees to her chest, keeping her eyes purposely forward the whole time.

His bath was quick. Normally, Achilles would linger and enjoy the few luxuries he allowed himself during war, but he knew the whole situation had to be awkward for the girl. This whole set of circumstances was too interesting for him to contemplate, anyway. Soon, he had dried off and changed into his blue tunic. He ruffled his hair and started to leave, but paused at the door.

"If you wish," he said, never turning to face her, "you may use the rest. Lovely as you are, war is not the cleanest of work."

She spun around in time to see the tent flaps swaying from his abrupt departure.

"Who are you?" she wondered out loud. But no one answered.

Where was the barbarian warrior she had heard so much about? The killer so fierce, he drank the blood of his opponents and used their skins for rugs to decorate his palace? The monster that slay men on their doorsteps and took their wives while their husband's body cooled on the street? The lion that taught no mercy to his men and ended wars with a single swipe of his blade?

A paradox, indeed!

* * *

**A/N: **Didja like it? Didja? Didja? Ok, I'll calm down, but I love reviews. If I get enough, it'll hopefully inspire quicker updates... I hope. Anyway, review!


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I still own absolutely nothing. In fact, I'm in debt. Please don't sue.

Oh my, a new chapter after 3 days! (looks out window to see a pig fly by). JK, but I felt that I should get this out now that I just finished it.

To my lovely reviewers:

Nerwen Nenharma- Sorry to "steal" the idea first; but I'm glad you like it!

Scouter- Aww, thanks, hon!

janell- I'm glad you like her, she wasn't originally like this in my head. :-P

shariena- (gasp) No long review? (pouts) Jk, I'm glad you've stuck with reviewing each chapter, I'm glad to get what I can!

Star reacher- Here ya go!

wild-vixen- again, another person who's stuck with me throughout the story! Thanks for the indepth review, I appreciate that you put what you liked, and gently gave advice. I shall take it into consideration. :-)

xLightbulb- (snicker) I know what you mean about Paris. La sigh, la gasp, etc.

Siyavash- I didn't mean to snap at you earlier, dear, I'm sorry. I just felt that you were being very negative and not giving any real advice on what to do. I promise, there is actually a reason behind Petra being able to handle a sword, etc. It will start to be explained more in the next chapter, just be patient.

I'm still in college and actually finishing finals this week (ugh), and then I have to get a job. I swear, I promise, I vow that I shall finish this story and this is not the end, nor will I drop off the face of the planet. It'll just take me a while to update, because I need to figure out what's happening next, and I also need money... See above disclaimer.

* * *

Despite her earlier resolutions, Petra found herself questioning whether or not to use the opportunity to clean herself. She did not have a problem with her dirty state, having been worse off before from sword practice with Hector (in fact, she used to prefer it to perpetual cleanness); but she could wash away the scents from her bathing oils and the palace. If Greek soldiers were anything like Achilles, they would soon realize her probable royal state.

Petra stood with resolve and hurried to the basin. The water still had steam billows rising from it, and on the floor next to them was bathing oils. Ignoring them and soaking a sponge, she wiped off her face.

She could not help the sigh that escaped her lips from the hot water caressing her skin. "Mmm…" It felt absolutely heavenly.

Before she knew it, she had slipped out of the ragged remains of her clothes and given herself a thorough cleansing. She gently wiped away the grime and sweat from her adventures off of her body, smiling at the wonderful feeling of clean skin. Despite her tomboy habits of childhood, she did appreciate pampering herself more than in her childhood.

Kicking her dress to the side to avoid dripping, she slowly let the cloth slide down her legs and scrubbed away at the blood that also refused to come off. She winced at the bruises there but ignored them, finally standing up and shaking her hair loose behind her.

It was absolutely exhilarating being clean again.

It was precisely the moment she had finished bathing that Achilles reentered abruptly.

Both stared at each other, her eyes wide with shock and fear, his wide with surprise and something unidentifiable. Her hands shot upwards, attempting to cover herself modestly, as she ducked her head forward and let her hair drape her body.

A whimper of embarrassment escaped her lips. So this was how Apollo would punish her for her almost kissing the Greek warrior! She almost wished the sun god had just asked his father to strike her down with lightning instead. Then she would not have to face the humiliation of this before her enemy raped her!

Achilles tried to look away, but it proved more difficult than he believed. In front of him was surely a nymph or some far-lost goddess. From her small feet to her head, she was a perfect sculpture of slender curves and smooth planes. He clenched his jaw and fists to fight the urges in him that were both questionable in nature and extremely inappropriate. With some unknown force he turned away, swallowing hard, and held out the bundle of cloth in his arms to his side.

"I apologize, my lady," he said, his voice gruffer than usual. "I only wished to give this to you."

Petra slowly stepped forward, stretched out and grabbed what he held. To her surprise and relief, it was a plain sheath tunic of browns and gold, alike those that servants at the palace wore, but it was fresh clothes.

She slipped it over her head as Achilles spoke, his back still to her. "It is not much, but I had not counted on _you_ when I came here."

"It's better than what I had," she argued, her head finally finding the neck to her dress. She let it settle around her body loosely and made an attempt to brush her hair out of her face with her fingers. "You can turn."

He turned, with inner regret at her now fully-clothed state, and scanned the gown. To his pleased surprise, her hair billowed behind her instead of up and back. She continued to shake it back while turning as if to ask for his approval. He almost laughed at her girlish attitude then noticed the plainness of the dress.

When he had gone through his trunks and found one of Patroclus' old training garbs that had accidentally been packed along, he had only thought of getting something for his captive to wear that was not hopelessly torn and dirty. Now he almost felt like he had insulted her with such a plain garment.

This girl deserved much more. He knew it, and spoke his opinion out loud.

"You need something finer," he commented on the gown, frowning at its simplicity. Petra's eyebrows furrowed together at his comment and she nervously wiped her hands on the front of it.

"This is fine," she mumbled, looking down at her sandaled feet. She felt her emotions conflicting strangely. This man, who could have thrown her back onto his bed and had his wicked way with her had not only given her clothes and a bath, but also now declared that he wished to dress her in something more befitting a free princess rather than a captive slave.

"Well," Achilles stepped forward and let a finger tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear in a sudden and affectionate gesture, "I believe you deserve more." He smothered a grin when her stomach suddenly growled loudly. "Hungry?" he teased.

_Why am I putting this much effort into her comfort?_ He ignored the question within him. He would feed and clothe her, then wonder at it later when he had the time to muse over honey-eyed maidens.

Her face flushed slightly, but she only shrugged nonchalantly. She would never eat any food this man offered her until she knew she could trust him. With her thoughts now so bewildered about him, she knew that would not happen for a while, making her inwardly moan at the thought of no food.

"I'll have a tray brought to you," he promised, obviously not knowing her thoughts. "I need to check on my men's encampment, but you are welcomed to wander through the tent at your leisure." Hesitating, he added, "It would not be wise to leave by yourself just yet. Tomorrow I shall provide an escort for you."

"My lord-" she began to argue, but he cut her off with a pointed look.

"_Achilles_," he corrected.

"My lord," she repeated stubbornly, "you needn't bother with a lowly captive. I'm sure your men have better things to do with their time than let me enjoy a few breaths of fresh air now and then."

Despite his disappointment that she did not call him by name, he felt amusement at her continued arguing. "Not really," Achilles said, biting back a smile. If she knew that he was smiling at her, he would take two steps back in their relationship, however bizarre it may be. "All they really do here is training. It won't be a bother, trust me."

He started to leave, then paused at the tent flap.

"Oh, and girl?" She looked up from where she still stood. "You needn't fear me. You are the only Trojan who can say that." With that last thought, he stepped out into the sunshine.

* * *

**Outside Achilles' Tent**

Eudorus waited for Achilles to reappear from his tent before approaching him. Ever since meeting that girl, the leader of the Myrmidons acted very strangely, more gentle than Eudorus had ever seen. Never had Achilles shown this type of respect towards any of his consorts.

"My lord!" he called out when Achilles stepped out. Achilles looked up expectantly for whatever his second-in-command needed, but he looked a little dazed at the same time. Eurorus frowned with concern. "My lord, are you unwell?" he asked hesitantly, not wanting to anger his leader but still worried despite all.

To the Myrmidon's surprise, Achilles almost… was he _blushing_?

Clearing his throat, Achilles only shook his head and nodded towards the encampment. "Call the men together," he ordered as he started to walk to his cousin's tent. "I wish to speak with them now."

"Yes, my lord." Eudorus hurried to complete his task, inwardly wondering if this talk would have anything to do with the girl.

He had seen little of this girl, his first sighting being when Achilles walked into the Myrmidon's site with an unconscious woman in his arms last night. But that was all Eudorus had seen, for Achilles whisked her into his tent and did not exit until the following morning with instructions to bury the dead from the day before. Eudorus thought nothing of this. Achilles disliked having other men able to ogle that which was his and Eudorus respected and understood that decision.

Many of the Greek captains loathed Achilles' skill and loyalty from his men. They would think nothing of taking his prize, especially Agamemnon.

However, Eudorus continued forward, yelling out orders for the men to quickly convene in front of their lord's tent in order to receive instructions. The men looked over curiously, despite their obedient actions; for they knew that no fighting would happen today. The other Greeks were still moving onto the shores of Troy, and then they would move onto Troy or some other adjourning cities nearby such as Thebes.

Meanwhile Achilles paused at his cousin's tent. "Patroclus!" He received no response, but the sun was halfway through the sky, letting him know that his teenage relative most definitely should be awake if not otherwise. "Patroclus!"

"What?" came the sullen response from within the structure.

Trying not to roll his eyes at the very evident pout in Patroclus' speech, Achilles only said, "I wish to discuss something with you, now."

A few moments of silence passed. Before Achilles could barge in and probably give Patroclus an undignified exit of his establishment (probably ending with a dunking in the Aegean), Patroclus yanked his tent flap out of his way and stepped out into the bright sunlight, wincing at the rays beaming right into his eyes.

Some Greeks walked passed as the young man stepped out, and they paused, elbowing each other's ribs and chuckling. "Did we disturb your rest, young prince?" one called out jeeringly. "Sorry, we had too much work to do today to take note of that!"

Patroclus' face flushed with humiliated rage as they continued their taunts. Achilles clenched his jaw at this poor attitude from older men, who knew that Patroclus was probably a better fighter than them combined.

"You see why I wish to be alone?" Patroclus asked bitterly once the men had passed. "You see why I hide in here, not facing men who don't understand why I am not allowed to fight? Do you see, cousin?" he demanded angrily.

"I see a passel of fools that for some reason you listen to." Achilles' calm words dissipated Patroclus' fury. "You are a far better fighter than them by far, and they dislike that knowledge."

"Then why don't you let me fight?" Patroclus demanded, still stung. "If you had left me in Pthia, at least I would not have to listen to this every day!"

"And I would sail away knowing that my one cousin, the person I had sworn to protect, hated me for leaving him behind?" Achilles shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. He started to walk back to his tent, gesturing with his head for Patroclus to follow him. Patroclus reluctantly fell into step with him while Achilles continued.

"You are an excellent student, Cousin, the finest ever. But I wished for you to continue your training, which I cannot oversee if here in Troy. Perhaps, if this war lasts long enough, you will eventually fight in it." He kept a smile on his face, despite his inner dreading that he would never see his star pupil's success. No matter how the days were going, or how he felt about his captive in his tent, Achilles knew that his mother's predictions were rarely false.

_Your fate walks hand in hand with your doom._

A shiver ran down his spine despite his attempts to shake off that superstitious streak in him. His mother's predictions had yet to come true, but maybe he would be lucky.

* * *

**A Week Ago, on Pthia Shores**

Thetis stared at the black-sailed ships bobbing slowly up and down in the harbor with a lump in her throat_. Oh Peleus_, she thought achingly of her dead husband. _Did you send your son willingly to his death, my love? Would you be at his side, were you still alive_?

Thoughts of her dead husband only saddened her more than she originally was feeling. It had been so long since Peleus had been at her side, comforting her in times of worry and trouble.

"My lady?" Wiping away a runaway tear, Thetis turned to see a nervous Eudorus hesitating at her side. "We're about ready to leave."

"Yes," she replied simply. She could not prolong the inevitable.

But her brave front failed to fool Eudorus, who had served the lady Thetis and her son for his whole life. The compassionate nature of the older lieutenant stirred with pity at the worried look in Thetis' eyes, and the whiteness at her clenched knuckles.

Searching for any sort of comfort, Eudorus offered softly, "I'll watch over him, my lady." Her brilliant blue eyes, so like those of her son, looked up into his with an unexplainable emotion flickering in their cerulean depths. "I swear by Apollo that he shall never be harmed while I am around."

Her expression never faltered from its outer calm, but she spoke quietly so nobody would hear, with warmth seeping into her eyes: "Thank you, Eudorus. I would like that."

Eudorus bowed to her, a pleased smile on his face. He turned and yelled more orders to the men while they boarded the ships.

"_If you stay in Larissa…"_

The woman prophetess had always known that her son would be a skilled and sought-for warrior. She, despite her secret longings, accepted that she would never hold her grandchildren, nor see her son married to any woman.

The home she now had, near the sea and her son's palace, would never hear children's laughter or the patter of their feet running up and down. She would not make seashell necklaces for them.

She would never watch her son grow old…

"_If you go to Troy_…"

Walking along the dock, she watched the weapons and armor being carried off the ship. She lost herself in her thoughts.

Troy. A battle that would be fought over one woman's infidelity to her husband, on the surface, or over the land of Troy, as Agamemnon wanted. _Will it be worth your happiness, Helen of Troy, to see so much bloodshed_?

Men passed her, faces she would never see again until Charon crossed her over in his boat.

"Mother." The voice of her son interrupted Thetis' musings.

She pasted a smile onto her lips and looked up into Achilles' face. Her hand rose to touch his jaw gently. "Your path has been chosen. I can do nothing to sway you."

Achilles sighed, letting one hand cover her small one at his face in a rare gesture of affection. "Who would I find, that would ever surpass you?"

The compliment brought a chuckle to her lips, despite the force behind it. "Oh, my son," she sighed, her face darkening, "You will always be remembered by men." She let herself fall into his open arms, and she whispered, more for herself than him, "Remember me."

"How could I forget you?" he murmured back. The warrior kissed his mother's cheek before finally stepping back. "Perhaps there is a chance I shall see you again, Mother." She shook her head sadly, though.

Thetis held up a hand at him in a gesture of farewell, blinking back tears. "May Zeus protect you."

He refused to respond to that, but he nodded firmly.

On the ship, he glanced back, only once, to have a last look at his beautiful home. At the dock, he saw the one lone figure watching the boats sail out of sight. Her cloak billowed in the wind, around her fragile frame.

"Goodbye…"

* * *

**Back to Present, in Troy**

_Were thine that special face?  
The face which fills my dreaming,  
Were thine the rhythm'd grace  
_

Achilles shook himself out of this bittersweet memory and paused Patroclus next to his tent. "The girl I bought last night," Achilles began, then stopped himself.

Patroclus waited patiently for his cousin to continue. When no conclusion came to the thought, he prodded, "The girl…?"

"Cousin, would you…" Achilles stopped, hesitating over his words. How could he ask this without offending Patroclus? "Could you… possibly… keep an eye on her? For me?"

"What?" Patroclus felt his face burn with shame. "Be the watcher of a woman? The men will mock me!" he sputtered with shock, and Achilles did not blame the boy's protesting. It could be a heavy blow to a young man of Patroclus' pride.

But Achilles remained firm. "I cannot keep her safe, Patroclus. I would feel better if she were under your care."

_Were thine the form so lithe and slender,  
Were thine the arms so warm, so tender  
_

Frowning, Patroclus kicked a stone away. "_Why_ did you bring me here?" When Achilles only sighed and rubbed at his temples with one hand, Patroclus added heatedly, "I am not allowed to fight, I cannot do anything that would possibly put me at risk, and now I am to guard a _woman_!"

"Guard the consort of _Achilles_," his cousin corrected. "I trust you to keep my most valuable treasure safe. No other man here can say that."

"Most valuable? Cousin, you do not even know her name!"

"I know." Achilles looked back at his tent, his eyes distant as if he could see through the fabric and into his temporary dwelling. "But this one is different than the others."

The younger man shook his head at the cryptic reply of his elder, still confused. Despite his brief glance at the girl and seeing her beauty, Patroclus still did not understand his cousin's attraction to the Trojan captive. She was a woman, like hundreds of others that they saw in their travels, except with better skills with a blade.

Still, his loyalties lay to his country and cousin.

Patroclus sighed. "I shall protect her for you," he promised reluctantly with the slightest hint of a pout.

_Were thine the kiss divine,  
Were thine the love for me_

Achilles smiled at that, letting his hand grasp the sullen boy's shoulder. "Thank you, Cousin," he spoke with complete sincerity, his usual mocking tone completely gone from his voice. "I would not entrust this to everyone." Patroclus brightened at his words.

"I shall not let you down." Squaring his shoulders, Patroclus strode with purpose to Achilles' dwelling.

He paused at the tent flap, let in a deep breath, then entered.

As Patroclus walked away, Odysseus joined Achilles. "Your cousin seems to be in better spirits today," the wise Greek observed. "Any particular reason?" Achilles shrugged.

"He is to guard the girl."

"Ah, yes, your prize from Agamemnon." Odysseus' tone changed from jest to sincerity, his face sobering. "Do you know honestly what you are doing, my friend?"

"What do you mean?" Achilles demanded, hackles rising.

"I mean," Odysseus frowned at Achilles' attitude and elaborated seriously, "that she is not the experienced whore like your previous prizes. That girl is very young, innocent and should be handled carefully. Can I trust you to do that?"

Hating the feeling of being scolded like an errant child, Achilles retorted stubbornly, "She is mine, and I shall do with her as I please! What claims have you to her?"

"Only the claim of a father who would do anything to keep his own children safe."

_The love which fills my dreaming,  
When all these charms are thine  
Then you'll be mine, all mine.  
_

Odysseus' refusal to lose his temper and calm words quenched the fire in Achilles. Sighing, the Myrmidon warrior rubbed his chin thoughtfully at the wisdom Odysseus spoke.

"Your reputation with women is well-known, my friend," Odysseus continued solemnly, with no trace of humor in his tone. "I know you have previously never taken any woman by force; you never had to. But I advise that you tread carefully with this girl."

Achilles glanced at the tent. Force her? He would sooner fall upon his own blade than kill the fire in her, which that would surely do.

"Do not concern yourself about the girl." He let his eyes return to his friend's. "I vow to protect her as long as she is mine to claim." Odysseus nodded, satisfied.

"I would like to meet her," Odysseus said. At Achilles' surprise, the king of Ithaca smiled. "I'd like to meet the woman who has earned the protection of the Prince of Ptia so effortlessly. She must be a remarkable young lady."

Grinning at that, Achilles shrugged. "She's different."

_Were thine the love for me,  
The love which fills my dreaming,  
When all these charms are thine  
Then you'll be mine, all mine.

* * *

_

**Inside Achilles' Tent**

Bored. That one small word, so overused by masses of people, described Petra's current state of mind perfectly.

Being inside Achilles' tent, she could not tell how many minutes had passed since the Myrmidon prince had left to take charge of his camp, but it felt like days. She knew that many would envy her current predicament: lying around with absolutely nothing required of her. She hated it intensely.

She had tried various amusements. She reorganized the different stones she had discovered in the sand; her knowledge of Greek weaponry had increased by studying Achilles'; the pattern of his shield would forever be in her memory; and she even made a small sand castle.

Petra let out a huff and ungraciously flopped onto the fleece bed. What else could she do? She had no friends to talk to, and she dared not speak loud for fear of attracting attention from her captors.

Sighing deeply, she leaned forward with her elbows at her knees and rested her head in her hands.

"_When that I was and a little tiny boy/ With hey, ho, the wind and the rain_," she started to sing under her breath the song Hector had usually whistled while working. Under the circumstances it was an odd choice, but it comforted her and gave her an occupation. "_A foolish thing was but a toy,  
For the rain it raineth every day_…"

Then she heard something outside.

Her body stiffened and she prepared for attack. It could not be Achilles, she knew with growing trepidation. He walked silently; always, if his last two walk-ins were any indications of his normal activities.

_Since when is anything about this day normal_? With an inner sigh, she slowly stood and moved to the side of the entrance, waiting for her intruder.

After a heart-stopping moment of silence the head came through the door, then the rest of the body of her unknown visitor. She held her breath, waiting for him to step further in.

When he did, she lunged and tackled him to the ground, using his surprise against him. Grabbing one of his arms, she twisted it behind him and shoved all her weight onto her knee in the middle of his back. A surprised yelp escaped from his lips, but she only ground his arm a little tighter and pressed a little harder.

"Who are you?" Her voice sounded extremely calm for someone who had just been frightened out of her wits.

And her captive did not feel very happy about his current predicament.

* * *

**A/N**: _Were Thine that Special Face_, by Cole Porter; _When I was and a Little Tiny Boy_ by William Shakespeare (shamelessly stolen because I know no ancient Greek songs). GO REVIEW!

(runs off to finish finals and get a job)


	9. Letter to the readers

Letter to my readers:

I swore I would never be one of the writers who does this, but it has come to a point where I must address you all. And this is what I want to say:

I am so sorry that you have waited so long. I am even sorrier that at this point I have no update for you. My muse has been fickle the past couple of months. I finally ALMOST have a chapter done, but I cannot find a way to finish it without it being much shorter than I would like.

I also have almost no idea of where to go with this story, so I am asking this:

For those of you who actually have read this story, who really love it, what do you want?

I cannot promise that I'll follow every suggestion, but I do want to know what you all will enjoy. Even just suggested snippets of scenes between characters will be appreciated. Do you want Patroclus to die? Do you want Hector and Achilles to actually fight? Is anyone anti-Paris shooting Achilles?

Thank you. I will try to finish my chapter and post it as soon as humanly possible.

Lyric


	10. Chapter 8

Wait... is it possible... I LIVE!!!! clings to muse

Believe it or not, one of my classes just studied the Iliad in great detail so I now have a TON of ideas on what to do now, so hopefully faster updates will occur. I sincerely apologize, though, people. Thanks for all the ideas and reviews!

So, the usual...

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own anything. I'm saving up my hard-earned pennies since I'm rapidly approaching my final year of college. Trust me kids, it comes faster than you think.

Here you all go!

* * *

There can be times in a man's life where he contemplates the intricate balance of the world: how nature flows, where the positions of power come from, and why life can be harmonic and dissonant at the same time.

Patroclus, currently face-down in the sand of his cousin's tent, was having one of these moments.

This was not how he pictured his entrance into Achilles' dwelling. He had conjured a romanticized image of the young waif-like girl huddled in a corner, him coaxing her out of her shell and letting him into her confidence, him listening sympathetically to her plight, and then becoming the hero by offering her some of his cousin's prized rations to chase away the nightmares of her experience.

Instead, he had a mouthful of Trojan shore, and one of the country's most jumpy maidens pinning him to the earth. He only prayed that no one outside the tent saw this display.

The girl ground him deeper into the sand, repeating her question. "Who are you?" When he did not respond, she shoved him harder.

"Patroclus!" he shouted to stop her, but it came out muffled.

Halting mid-shove, the girl's puzzlement was clear. "Parolhus?" she asked, repeating the sounds she had heard accurately. "What kind of name is that?"

_All right, enough is enough_. Patroclus suddenly threw her off his back, swung around, and reversed their positions, spitting out the grit.

"My name," he enunciated clearly, "is Patroclus. I am cousin to Achilles of Pthia, and you, my lady, are under my protection for the rest of your… stay here."

Petra almost leapt out of her skin when the young Greek suddenly turned and someone slipped out of her hold. She glared over her shoulder at him from her pinned state, narrowing her eyes. "Well, if you are who you claim to be, I doubt your cousin will appreciate the position we are currently in."

"Perhaps, but I was not the one that tackled a stranger to the ground, my lady." Again with the 'my lady!' She had to somehow convince him otherwise.

"And you expected me, a helpless woman, to let a stranger in here without defending myself?" she asked instead.

At that, Patroclus' hold faltered. "Oh." He had the decency to look sheepish and let her go. Petra slid a few feet away, sitting up and brushing sand off her clothes. "I had not thought of that," the young Greek admitted.

"I doubt you actually thought," she muttered, embarrassed now. A slight tint of pink touched her cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen at her words, and she suddenly felt ashamed for her comment. After all, he was doing his job, probably.

Brushing the sand off of her clothes, Petra looked over at him.

"Patroclus, I apologize." He started at her words. "That comment was unnecessary."

He glanced over at her, shock plainly written on his face. Then he slowly smiled, stood and offered her a hand up. "You have yet to tell me your name," he said, "and I take no offense at your words."

"I'm glad to hear it." She purposefully did not give her name, knowing that his cousin should probably know it first.

But Achilles had yet to ask for it. Perhaps, if she gave her name and a few details, it would make her appear human to them and therefore harder for them to mistreat her… Her nagging doubts still spoke in her mind about the wisdom in trusting the Greeks, the now-enemies of her people.

Patroclus tilted his head at her, surprised by her refusal at giving her name to him. But he only shrugged. "Are you hungry?"

Nodding, Petra slowly gave him a tentative smile. "Starving."

A grin spread onto Patroclus' young features. "If you shall excuse me, then, I shall go remedy the problem immediately." He bowed at the waist, then hurried back outside.

She shook her head at him. He seemed to be about her age, but his excitement reminded her of a much younger boy.

_So much like Paris_… She shook the thought from her head.

Instead of dwelling on melancholy thoughts, she curled up on one of the fur rugs and waited patiently for Patroclus to return.

The sun was halfway through the sky right now, and Petra could hear the men talking and smell their campfire spits cooking all around her. Her stomach rumbled painfully but she ignored it.

Wistfully she imagined what would be happening at her home, inside the gates of Troy: lunch would be ending about now. Perhaps the family would retire to one of the sunlit balconies looking over the city, where maybe Paris and Hector would challenge each other to some game. Andromache would strum the lute while Briseis rocked Astyanax to sleep for his nap, and Priam would watch them all with a smile, for the moment forgetting their woes. Petra denied the inner voice suggesting that they would be mourning deeply for her.

Her dreaming, however, could only occupy her mind for a small time. When it ended, and Patroclus had not returned, she looked around in dismay.

What could she do? Despite Achilles and Patroclus' generous words, she dared not touch anything of the great warrior's. His actions belied his reputation, but at least part of it must be true. She had seen the smallest glimpse of his legendary temper in Agamemnon's tent, in Achilles' eyes.

Then her eyes fell on a blade on the table near the door.

_Zeus's beard_… She walked up to the weapon, her finger tentatively touching the flat of the sword. Smooth cold steel penetrated her senses.

Letting her hand slide under the hilt, she slowly picked it up, delighting in the lightness of the whole object. Petra tightened her grip into the proper hold and twirled it around.

Hector's training returned to her mind, and a coy smile covered her lips. She fell into her steps, pretending to deflect enemy swipes, twirling to face the back of the tent. A stubborn grunt escaped her lips when she swung above her head elaborately.

Spinning around again, she swung-

And immediately clashed blades with an amused Achilles.

Her eyes widened almost comically in shock, but then she stepped back quickly, her sword gliding free while still in her hands.

Achilles let her back away, still giving her that calculating look. "You fight well," he said finally, when her doe-like expression refused to disappear. "I was unaware that Trojans train their women."

"They don't," she blurted out before retreating again into herself.

"If all Trojan women fought like you, I would think the leaders of your city great fools." Achilles sheathed his sword and circled her. "You are almost an Amazon, my lady."

Petra only held her blade level with his, her eyes never leaving him. She moved with him, never giving a back target. "Most men believe I should spend my hours doing more worthwhile activities."

"Such as?" Achilles prompted.

"Oh, sewing, cooking, primping, gossiping—the usual." Her sarcasm amused him, and he agreed with her opinion.

"May Zeus strike down the man who keeps a weapon out of your hands," Achilles chuckled when she suddenly lunged forward. Her blade touched his throat, freezing Achilles in his steps.

"Mock them and you will be brought face-to-face with their power," she warned softly.

"What do you think you will accomplish by this?" Achilles demanded calmly. Petra shrugged with one shoulder but she never lowered her hand. "You cannot escape; my men will stop you."

Petra arched an eyebrow at his arrogance. "You arrogant Greeks. You think by spending an hour on a sandy beach you know this whole land and its people intimately." She let out a tsk-ing sound with her tongue, shaking her head scoldingly.

"I believe I know this place better than you-"

But she interrupted him. "I know every stone and shell that covers our sands, every hidden crevice and dune on this beach. There are secrets that you and your almighty army could not even consider, hiding and undetectable for hundreds of years, that are common knowledge even to the smallest child of our city. And you think you can find me, if I run?"

Despite his circumstances, Achilles felt a thrill up his spine. _Here_ was the girl he confronted the day before! The fire was in her eyes and a smirk now curved onto her generous lips.

It took all of his control to not grab her and smother her with kisses.

Instead, he let his hands dangle at his sides non-threateningly while sighing deeply.

"Giving up?" she asked, almost looking disappointed. When the expression met Achilles' eyes, hope raised in him. Did she look forward to their sparring contests as much as he secretly did?

He only raised an eyebrow at her. "A Myrmidon never accepts defeat."

"So you plan to stare me down into surrender."

"Or…" Achilles abruptly echoed her earlier move, ducking back and under her blade, slipping behind her while letting a hand slip over her wrist, and sliding an arm around her slender waist while holding her sword to her own neck with the other hand.

A gasp escaped her lips at the sudden maneuver, accidentally cozying her into his embrace more. A wave of jasmine hit his nose.

Letting his mouth graze her right ear, he murmured, "Giving up?"

When he spoke, a loose lock of her hair caressed his lips. To his surprise, it was not the spun silk that most courtier women slaved to accomplish, but slightly coarser, as if its owner spent most of her days outdoors instead of in the comfort of her sitting room.

Her familiar words, spoken so low in her ear now, sent a shiver down her back, now nestled in his arms. He shifted slightly at that.

"Are you cold?"

Petra thanked the gods he could not see the embarrassed flush on her face now. She covered by rubbing her arms, thankful also that Achilles had lowered the sword. "I'm just hungry," she mumbled.

Achilles dropped her and walked over to a chest, pulling out a soft, lacy shawl. He returned behind her and draped it over her shoulders.

"You would think I would be used to the weather," she tried to joke.

Shrugging, Achilles glanced at the door-flap. "You usually do not spend the day on the ocean shore," he reminded her, absent as he thought.

"Don't patronize me!" she frowned at him.

"Patronize? Is stating the truth patronizing in Troy?" he retorted.

"It is when you assume that I am some delicate flower!" she snapped.

"Delicate?!" Snorting, Achilles shook his head. "If there were one word to describe you, my lady, it would _not_ be delicate."

"Stop calling me that," she almost groaned with frustration.

He clenched his jaw. "What else may I call you?" he demanded.

"Well, you could ask," she reminded.

That stopped Achilles in his tracks. To his chagrin, he realized that she had a point—he had never asked her name or anything else about her. For all he knew, she could be married! All he had were assumptions.

But before he could ask, a voice from outside interrupted him. "Achilles! Achilles!"

Biting back a curse he stuck his head out of the tent.

Murmured words reached Petra's ears. Bits and pieces came coherently: "…Trojans," and "talk of peace…" However, the roaring of the sea only a few yards away muffled anything she could possibly hear.

She sat on the ground and hugged her knees to her chest. "Hector… I don't know how much longer I can be brave," she whispered to the wind.

* * *

**11 Years Ago…**

Hector's lungs and body burned painfully from exhaustion, but he kept running, his heart beating madly. Fire glowed in almost every room he passed as he hurried down the halls.

"MOTHER!" He shouted at the top of his lungs. "Mother! Petra!"

Clouds of ash and dark smoke billowed in front of him while the screams of battle heard outside. Thrace burned, and his family was scattered through the palace.

It had been his father's idea: visit the town where Hecuba had lived before marrying him, and continue the good will between the cities.

Then Thrace was attacked, in the middle of the night.

At seventeen, Hector knew that one day he could one day be the ruler facing this type of crisis, but at this moment his thoughts were only on his missing sister and mother.

Hector paused, leaning against a wall to gulp a few mouthfuls of breath, before he continued his run. Priam and ten year-old Paris were behind him, Priam fighting off any pursuers while Hector ran ahead, searching for Hecuba and young Petra.

"PETRA!" He shouted once more, straining his ears to hear anything.

Screams from people being slain at the hands of merciless Greeks outside reached his ears, but then he heard something in an adjacent chamber that chilled his blood.

"No! I will not let you take my daughter!"

Quietly sneaking to peek into the room, he saw his mother in her nightwear, her hair streaming down her back, facing a Greek with fire in her eyes and seven-year-old Petra peering from behind her skirts.

The soldier only let out a cold laugh that made Hector's heart stop. "You have little say in the matter, Trojan whore!"

Pulling out his sword, Hector waited for his chance as his mother tried to shove Petra away. "Petra, run…"

A blood-freezing scream shook Hector's whole soul as the Greek suddenly thrust his sword into Hecuba's stomach. Her mouth stayed open even after her cry of pain, as she sunk onto the floor.

"**Mama**!" Petra grabbed a sword on the floor and began blindly whacking at the soldier in a way that would get her killed.

"NO!" Hector ran into the room, tears streaming down his cheeks as he pulled Petra back by the back of her dress and made a fatal blow at the soldier's throat.

Petra fell to the ground as the soldier's eyes widened and his body, too, collapsed to the floor.

Silence, except for Petra's heart-broken sobs, filled the room.

Finally Hector looked over at the small form of his sister, her face buried in her arms as she cried for her mother. He crawled over to her and took her into his arms, kissing her hair.

"Shh, Pet, shh…" He helplessly stroke her back in a soothing motion.

"HECTOR! PETRA! HECUBA!" Priam's hoarse shout broke through Hector's grief.

"In here, Father!" he tried to yell past the lump in his throat.

Priam hurried in, slamming the heavy doors shut behind him and Paris, who collapsed on the ground panting his young lungs out. "I don't think they saw us," Priam said quickly, sheathing his sword, "but we've got to hurry, is your mother…" His voice trailed off when he saw Petra in Hector's arms, blood, tears and smoke smeared onto her little face. "Petra my love, what happened…?"

Sobbing quietly, the young girl pointed a shaky finger to the middle of the room. Priam's eyes followed to the body of his wife.

"Hecuba…" He shakily walked to her side, then knelt down.

Paris stood next to his older brother, holding his shirt tightly for comfort as his large brown eyes stared at his mother's corpse. Petra snuggled closer into Hector's embrace.

Kissing Petra's damp forehead, Hector silently made a promise.

_Never… Never again, with Zeus as my witness… will I let you be this vulnerable, Pet. I don't care what Father's council says; I'll train you to best even our soldiers… but never again will I let you be this helpless. I swear it._

As if she could hear him, Petra laid her head on his broad shoulder and wept herself to sleep.

* * *

**11 Years Later, Trojan Army Complex**

_Every time we say goodbye, I die a little,  
Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little  
_

Hector stared at the empty training grounds in front of him, holding a sword in his hands. It twirled listlessly in his grasp as he lost himself in memories. Eleven years, countless bruises and scars, and buckets of sweat had passed since this blade left his ownership and been received into the tiny hands of a sad and lonely little girl. And now she was gone.

Choking away unmanly tears, he stood and walked along the corridors of the army's barracks with the sword in his hands. In his heart, he tried to keep hope that his sister had somehow survived and hid, but thanks to the Council's decisions it was more likely she had not.

Despite the training, despite his attempts at protecting his treasured Petra, the last remainder in his and his family's life of Hecuba, his sister's blood stained the sands somewhere from her lack of training.

_Or_… He dared not contemplate the other fate she might have.

His hands clenched on the handle of the weapon. Thanks to the Council, his sister would not be buried but be a slave to the Greeks or worse.

_What a waste of life_, he thought despairingly.

_Why the Gods above me, who must be in the know.  
Think so little of me, they allow you to go.  
_

His main regret at the moment was his inability to get her corpse and at least give her a proper burial. The grief of the people would allow her to have the funeral usually bestowed upon a prince of Troy, with the games and the burning on a pyre.

But his sister now lay at the mercy of the Fates, doomed to walk upon the Earth restless and not reside in Hades with her ancestors and mother.

Even now the smell of burning carcasses and coals reached his nose.

_Wait_… With a frown, Hector hurried to the walls of Troy and looked over the sands and dunes towards the beach with a perplexed expression. Was he imaging out of wistful hope and his gloomy thoughts?

No. Actual piles of wood with Trojan bodies rose from the ground with incense being offered to the gods. Who would show compassion like this?

_When you're near, there's such an air of spring about it,  
I can hear a lark somewhere, begin to sing about it,  
There's no love song finer, _

_but how strange the change from major to minor_

"It looks like even godless snake-eaters can show mercy." Hector looked to his right with surprise at the sound of his father's aching voice. Old Priam joined his son and patted his arm tiredly. "I could smell them even from the palace. Your wife hopes that Petra is among them."

"And you, Father?" Hector asked quietly.

Priam's blue eyes glistened with tears. "I can only hope… But even more I pray that perhaps there was a chance she survived."

"Father!" Hector turned his back from the funerals. "Think of what you are hoping. If she did survive, she will be at the mercy of those heathens and you know they will find out that she is a princess of Troy. They will send you your daughter's head on a pike."

"Perhaps, but there is always hope." Holding onto the strong stone of his walls, Priam looked distantly over the horizon. "I feel in my bones that she is alive. No part of her has been sent to us yet."

Hector shook his head and sighed but his father continued.

"So for now let an old man wish." With a groan of aging, which Hector knew occurred overnight, Priam pushed away from the scene and turned to walk back to the palace with the trudge of the desperate, clinging to a simple concept: hope.

_When you're near, there's such an air of spring about it,  
I can hear a lark somewhere, begin to sing about it,  
There's no love song finer._

The sun rose high in the sky as if to mock the Trojans of their losses the day previous. In parts of the city, life continued at its old pace: the market sold the fruit and fish for the day, the children ran underfoot, the wives scolded their husbands.

In the glittering palace Hector armed himself with a hip dagger and dressed in simple rags from one of the servants.

"This is crazy," Andromache worried, contradicting her words as she knelt at his feet lacing his sandals. "My love, you realize that this is a fool's errand and you shall not find her."

"I must try." He looked at Astyanax, who whimpered and fussed.

Andromache followed his gaze before rising and holding his hand. "He knows that she is gone. He thinks she will return, and complains while he waits."

"Perhaps I can bring back some type of hope." The crowned prince of Troy kissed his wife gently. "I shall return before the next day."

Following him to the door of their quarters, Andromache clasped her husband's hand for a moment. Hector paused and looked at her expectantly as she drew in a breath. "If she is alive… Try to bring her home."

"I shall." And with a whoosh of his cloak he disappeared into the palace, heading for the servants quarters and to the back…

To the passage that nobody ever took to the beach.

_But how strange the change from major to minor,  
Every time we say goodbye._

* * *

"Uh… My lady?"

Petra paused in her reorganizing of the stones in the sand in front of her, her gaze shifting to the front of the tent where Patroclus stood awkwardly.

"You may enter, Patroclus." She smiled a bit at his attempts at being gallant. "This is, after all, your cousin's tent."

"And you are my cousin's consort. I must not annoy or disturb you." The youthful Pthian bowed with a grin before showing her what he hid behind his back. A happy gasp escaped Petra's lips at the sight of a tray of food.

"May the gods favor you!" The praise made her new friend redden but look pleased as he walked in and lay the tray on a bearskin.

Tempting-looking cuts of fresh beef with fried fish, moist grapes and sweet-smelling dates, two cut pomegranates… Her mouth watered at the surprising feast that Patroclus had managed to provide in such a short time.

"How did you come upon this?" she asked while dipping her fingers in the bowl of water he held to her from Achilles' basin. She managed to fight a blush as she remembered the bathing incident from earlier. In her head the Trojan princess could still feel Achilles' eyes on her, making her insides burn pleasantly.

Patroclus, unaware of her train of thought, announced cheerfully, "My cousin always finds good provisions for his men. He says that if we cannot eat well then how shall we fight well against our enemies?"

That made Petra's nimble fingers pause over a cut of beef. "I'm your enemy, Patroclus," she stated quietly.

"No, you are not. My cousin has no quarrel with the Greeks."

"Then why fight this war?" she demanded with an arched brow. "Lord Achilles, if legend is correct, answers to no man. He fights fiercely and without mercy, and only to those that he deems worthy."

"I think," Patroclus took a bite out of fish thoughtfully, "he wishes to fight against Prince Hector. If he is as good a warrior as they say…"

"He is Troy's finest," Petra said numbly.

_Gods, Hector, am I to eat and sleep in the same tent as your possible killer?_ It made her lose all appetite despite her ravenous hunger from earlier.

Munching, Patroclus looked at her and saw her pale face. _Oh… I am such a fool!_ Scolding himself, he immediately tried to ease his new friend, the only one other than his cousin and perhaps Odysseus he now had on this shore despite her allegiance to the enemy. "But my cousin may not fight against the Greeks. There are many places near here that we can raid before we even consider Troy."

The girl still did not eat. He then entreated with an argument he knew would win:

"My cousin will beat me if he thinks I starved you."

That brought a small smile to her lips as she took some beef and reluctantly chewed. "I cannot allow that to happen."

Smiling at this restoration to harmony, Patroclus then noticed for the first time her garments. He recognized the clothe from his own storages of old clothes that Achilles made him pack. "Did my cousin give that to you?"

She followed his gaze then nodded. "I needed clothes, so Ach… _Lord_ Achilles… gave this to me."

"Ah." Patroclus frowned a bit. "You deserve something nicer."

A small chuckle escaped her lips. "You and your cousin… You both think I am some great lady of Troy."

"Aren't you? You don't act like a servant." Patroclus handed her one of the pomegranates. "Most women from the courts _do_ act a bit more coy and shy towards men, but only a noble lady could possibly have the courage to stand up to my cousin like you have."

"I thought all cowered in terror to your cousin," she teased with a grin.

"Oh, they do." Patroclus grinned in return. "But you must be used to dealing with lions to deal with Achilles."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said as she popped a pomegranate seed into her mouth.

* * *

**A/N: **Song is _Everytime We Say Good-bye_ by Ella Fitzgerald. Want the story to continue? Review! 


	11. Chapter 9

So I promised I would come back... and I spent a lot of time musing over how to do this story. If I do it the way I want to it'll take YEARS to finish, so I may have to do time-jumps and lots of flashbacks, since the Trojan war actually took about 7 years in the Iliad. But I promise lots of goodies will occur along the way, including treachery, villany, romance, adventure, sex, jealousy, sex, betrayal... You get the idea. :-)

Thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed. You all rock my face off literally.

Disclaimier: I still own nothing. I don't even own my muse. Grrrr**  
**

* * *

**Trojan Palace**

_Why does he do the things he does?  
Why does he do these things? _

Helen had known many men of power in her life; from her childhood in her father's halls to her ill-fated marriage to the Spartan king, she observed powerful princes and kings, and saw their treatment towards those they considered lesser than them. Nothing, however, prepared her for the men of Troy.

Despite the war she brought to their doorstep the men treated her as a new member of the family and not an intruder or harlot for leaving Menelaus. Hector took time from his grief over his sister to check on Helen and her treatment by the other nobles of the court, using his power in her favor and not to stab at her non-existent virtue. Paris remained the young, naïve but sweet boy of their courtship with his wide-eyed ideals and heart-felt adoration of her.

And Priam… She glanced at the shadowed figure hunched over the throne from her position on an adjacent balcony.

The poor man tried to give her attention as due to a daughter despite his heart aching over the loss of his own blood. She sat at Paris' side in honor for formality in the evening and spun or weaved with her sister-in-law Andromache by day, all which she suspected were from Priam's generosity.

But even a blind man could see Priam's grief.

_Why does he march  
Through that dream that he's in,  
Covered with glory and rusty old tin?  
_

She felt helpless, even more so than behind Menelaus' gates before all this came to be. The princess who welcomed her, despite all the trouble Helen brought, was dead.

These gloomy thoughts broke in their intensity when a groan reached the delicate former-Spartan queen's ears. Helen looked up to see Priam bent over as if ill, making her heart thud to a halt from worry. "My lord!" She ran to his side, holding his arms to help.

Priam's expression declared his surprise at the sudden assistance while she helped him to a sitting position and squeezed his hand as if to give her feeble strength to him. "Helen…?"

"Yes, my lord." Helen bowed her head in supplication.

A broad hand touched the crown of her cranium, stroking her hair. "You are a good girl. A fine wife for my son."

"No, my lord. I have brought grief upon you."

_Why does he live in a world that can't be,  
And what does he want of me...  
What does he want of me?_

Silence fell for a moment… then Priam sighed and patted her head. "No matter what you did, I would have lost my daughter. Perhaps the gods wished to send me one to take her place."

Tears stung Helen's eyes at the honor. "I do not deserve…"

"Petra would want it this way. This is the way of life, a passing on of power and position." A soft, pained chuckle escaped him at the same time as a tear. "And now she will not be forced into the position you were in at Sparta with Menelaus."

Helen thought of the head-strong girl she saw only a day ago and how she could fade into a pale, pale reflection of herself like Helen had. She fought a shudder.

"Grim, is it not?" The old blue eyes kept their vacant stare out at the sky. "But the gods know best, daughter."

At that, Helen's head rose with gratitude and a feeling of unworthy.

"I do not deserve all of you."

"Ah, but you are one of us now. And that will never ever change, my dear." He pulled her over, letting the delicate fair head rest on his knee while he stroked her hair absently.

Helen knew this pose must be an old one for Priam, from the practiced caresses of a father to a daughter. In her head, she made a solemn vow.

_With the gods as my witnesses, I will not be a burden to this family. I swear upon my life I shall make them not regret my presence in their home and life._

As if he could hear her Priam kissed the top of her head.

_I have a family now. I will make them never regret me._

* * *

**Meanwhile**

"Halt!" Achilles wiped a bead of sweat off his face from the hot overhead sun. The beach of Troy simply sweltered now with oppressing sunshine, sand and salt water.

_Perhaps this is Apollo's revenge, to try and bake us alive._

The Myrmidons stopped at their leader's command and stood at attention, waiting for their next instructions. "My lord!"

"Get out of the sun and drink water," he ordered firmly. "Tomorrow we shall discover what the plans are for the battle. I want all of you to sleep well tonight in our new home." He added, "And enjoy. We have all earned a celebration tonight."

The firm yet fair instructions met a hearty roar of approval before the men noisily marched away.

However, Eudorus stayed behind for instructions while Achilles tried to brush the dust off his legs and unbuckle his armor from the practice. "My lord." He stood at attention, knowing for sure that Achilles would have some task for him that would warrant his immediate attention.

"My cousin has been protecting the girl, but I want a small escort for her. I need men that will not intimidate or provoke her."

"Yes, my lord," Eudorus only murmured. Any of his bewilderment was now hiding behind his stoicism. "I shall make a list of recommendations by nightfall."

"Thank you." To his captain's surprise, Achilles paused to smooth his hair back nervously, checking his reflection in the mirror of his shield with a frown. Despite his best efforts, his blonde mane still looked matted and tangled from the separation of a comb and a full bath. "I look wild, don't I?"

"You _are _an untamed lion, my lord. You pride yourself on that."

"My reputation proceeds me." The bitter tone did not escape Eudorus' notice, nor did the side glance towards the prince of Ptia's tent.

They both heard the sound of surprised male, then female laughter from Achilles' tent, making a jealous frown mar Achilles' chiseled features from his ominous thoughts.

Eudorus tried to hide his amusement. The great and ruthless Achilles worrying over losing a girl to his cousin!

"My cousin should mind his place with my consort." Instead of a fierce scowl or the cold stare that penetrated into the hearts of even the most courageous of men into running in the opposite direction, a sullen pout graced the most feared warrior of Greece. It took all of Eudorus' self-control to not laugh until his sides ached.

Instead he tried rationality. "I doubt the young lady would entertain ideas of romance with her enemy, sir, especially if she doesn't want to anger you. She seems to be intelligent."

That had the intended result, but not in the way Eudorus hoped. His general's pout changed into one of disappointment, even perhaps one of unintended shattered illusions.

"Forgive me, my lord." Eudorus added quickly, inwardly kicking himself.

"No, old friend. I appreciate your honesty." The words came out as if under a large burden, as Achilles leaned against a tent-pole and peered up at the sky to hide his emotions.

"Perhaps, sire," Eudorus spoke hesitantly, "you should give it time. You only recently met this girl, and she is… not like the other, uh, ladies you usually meet in war." He hoped to not receive a scowl for his attempt at delicacy.

Achilles did not scowl, but his face expressed frustration. "I have never needed to work for anything in my life!"

"Is that a terrible task, sire, a challenge?"

A reluctant chuckle rumbled from the Myrmidon leader's lips. "You are perhaps more wise than me, Eudorus. Odysseus would tell me that I am acting bull-headed."

"And that you are in deep over your head, my friend." Odysseus stepped forward from his hiding place in the shadow of a Myrmidon ship.

With a murmur of pardon, Eudorus left to fulfill Achilles' orders despite wanting to hide behind one of the tents and listen to what he knew would be one of the most interesting arguments between the two monarchs.

"How long were you listening?" Achilles growled with annoyance at the wily fox. The same mysterious red tint from earlier touched his cheeks.

"Long enough to see that you will make a grave mistake if you are not careful, my friend." Odysseus started walking down the beach, indicating that Achilles should join him.

For a moment the spoiled warrior considered ignoring the invitation. Then he followed with a muttered oath. "Stubborn, all-knowing…"

Odysseus only continued walking. "I know you consider it foolishness but I see the way you talk about this girl. It's the way I feel about my wife." He paused when they neared the water. "It's the look of a man about to be altered completely."

"She is a Trojan and our enemy."

"You don't believe in this war. She is not your enemy and if rumors are correct she is anything but a helpless woman of the court." He chuckled. "The perfect companion for you, actually."

Achilles kicked a pebble. "She is not a concubine. I will not touch her."

"If this was anyone but you I would think you want to marry the girl." Suddenly Odysseus looked concerned at his younger friend. "Please don't tell me you…"

"I care about her," Achilles grumbled. But a lump started to appear in his throat. If his mother's prophecy came true… If he did die… If Agamemnon knew she was more than a simple concubine to him… If he couldn't protect her…

"My friend," Odysseus tapped his arm firmly. "I won't let anything happen to her if you are gone."

"How-" Achilles still had not let anyone know his fate.

"Instead of planning for your future you plan for others. You were not going to take a woman for this trip. You must know something." Odysseus only hoped his suspicions were wrong, but Achilles' behavior towards everyone told him otherwise.

And it was confirmed by Achilles' nod. "My mother."

"Ah." Odysseus, along with many Greeks, knew of Thetis' reputation as a prophetess and how she predicted accurately. Never once had she proven herself wrong, to the point of being revered as a goddess.

The two friends stood in silence, the sun still high above them, while a small breeze from the ocean gently blew over them. The only sound they heard were the waves breaking on the shore, both of them quiet.

"I must see to the girl," Achilles finally broke the hush between them.

"Yes." Odysseus watched his friend head back to the Myrmidon camp before calling at the back to him, "Oh, and Achilles?" The warrior glanced over his shoulder. "Try to learn her name at least."

Scowling again, Achilles ignored the laughter floating behind him.

* * *

**Achilles' Tent**

"That was delicious." Petra wiped her fingers delicately on the edge of her robe. In her mind she scolded herself for eating strange food in the enemy camp. But Patroclus looked so honest, and acted completely without guile, so like Paris that she felt completely welcomed by his awkward sincerity and attempts to treat her well.

Patroclus wiped his face with his tunic boyishly. "Thank you, my lady." He smiled at her with complete innocence. Then he looked abashed. "I mean, uh…"

"You're welcome," she fought back a chuckle. She gave up on the "my lady" part now, knowing it was simple politeness for Patroclus.

Her ears pricked suddenly when she heard a sound outside.

"What is it?" Patroclus noticed her small twinge.

"I thought…" Nothing happened. "I guess I imagined a noise."

"Or you are simply to observant for enemy comfort." A deep voice answered her question, a voice that made her heart leap then pound faster. Both she and Patroclus looked behind her to see their visitor. "I only hope you don't consider me one. I have seen your skills with the blade."

"Cousin." Patroclus' amusement went flat from his body and voice. In fact, he looked absolutely bitter now.

In the small amount of time that she and Patroclus had been together, Petra gathered that Achilles was overprotective of his cousin, and that Patroclus loathed having to watch her despite the fun they actually had.

Petra sighed and rose to her feet to face her owner, trying to look every bit the slave. "My lo-"

Before she could turn a calloused tip touched her lips, Achilles' frame so close to hers from behind. "I have told you to call me Achilles," he corrected with a soft smile. Then his thumb ran over her chin.

This could be a domineering position, but there was a tender gentleness to his touch. She looked into the face of a lion and saw a cat.

"It isn't proper, my lord."

Neither of them noticed Patroclus' awkward fidgeting then final slip out the door-flap.

"Considering the position we are in, I think it is appropriate." And Achilles let go of her but stayed in close proximity to her as he helped her sit on a soft pellet of fur behind her. "I do think you should tell me your name."

Her eyes met his as she considered his words. Could she trust him?

Everything inside her reminded her of the legends of his prowess in battle and in bed, and the virgin in her blushed at them. But the warrior in her wanted the genuine and mutual respect he was offering. Perhaps he did not know her name, since she was a princess of Troy and not one of the heirs like Paris and Hector.

She finally took a deep breath and spoke quietly. "Petra. My name is Petra."

"Petra." Achilles nodded, smiling. "A beautiful name for a beautiful and strong girl." A comfortable silence fell until Achilles sighed. "I know I should have asked this already, but how old are you? Are you married?" He prayed the later to not be the case. If so, he would be obliged by honor to return her to her family.

But Petra almost laughed at his questions. "I am not married, my lord. I'm only eighteen." She did chuckle at his outrageously pleased look, feeling strangely at ease with him.

He also let out a rumble of mirth, standing and offering her a hand to rise with him. "Come."

"Where are we going?" she inquired while accepting the help.

"My men should be spending their time in their tents. We can take a walk on the beach if you desire." He hid a smirk of triumph at her happy look from his words. "I would like to show you some of the camp. Tomorrow I shall officially present you to my men."

Brushing sand off her garment, she nodded and stood at his side, her head lowering in the manner of a servant for her role.

"No, don't." His hand chucked her chin to make her look up. "Never lower yourself, Petra. You have proven yourself to never ever bow to anyone."

"Yes… Achilles."

* * *

**And Still Meanwhile**

"He treats her like his betrothed, my lord, not a concubine." The spy finished, bowing before Agamemnon's throne.

Stroking his chin, Agamemnon exchanged a look with his brother. "It looks like your former gift has more value than we first saw." He stared into the firepit in the center of the room contemplating. In a corner, Agamemnon's concubine Chrysies let her fingers run over the strings of a harp for background music to sooth his spirit.

But Menelaus looked sour-faced. "Brother, put that away. We need to talk, not listen to your harpy's supposed talents."

Chrysies glared at Menelaus as Agamemnon's eyes darkened.

"Take care, brother," he warned in a low voice.

Menelaus scowled and sat down with a sulk while the spy waited for dismissal, still crouched in front of the High King. The King of Mycenae waved a hand simply.

"I shall give you the same signal when I want more. Go."

With a silent bow the man tucked his cloak around himself before slinking back into the fading light of the afternoon.

"What a useful object," Agamemnon observed in a bored tone.

"Once we rid ourselves of Achilles, he will make a fine addition to your staff, Brother." Menelaus lounged more comfortably as his brother waved his concubine to their private chambers to wait for him.

That made the Aegean ruler laugh. "Oh, please… never trust a traitor, even one that you created. He will soon end his value to me."

A vicious smile curved over the Spartan king's face.

"So Achilles has finally found a weakness." Agamemnon stroked his beard. "We shall have to keep an eye on this Trojan blossom, find a way to possibly use her to our advantage."

"She is a survivor, and a whore. She will not refuse us."

Ignoring his brother's bitter tone, Agamemnon simply continued, "I need a way to make Achilles answer to me. Odysseus can only do so much. And if he wants to spare the girl's kinsmen, we will make him do so for fear of our corruption of his woman."

"And she will hate him. So either way we win."

Both plotters cackled with glee at their ideas.

* * *

**Remains of Apollo's Temple**

Hector grit his teeth together as he entered the back entrance to the now desecrated temple of Apollo, remembering the shining splendor that had existed there only a few days ago. Now it looked like a battleground, with blood stains on the floors and the stale stench of men's sweat and death still haunting the rooms.

Only days ago his cousin Briseis prayed and knelt at the altar here, and his sister would bring offerings along with worshippers.

Petra… Fighting back his emotions, Hector continued to walk through the halls towards the front, hoping that this cover would get him closer to the Greek camps undetected. If he was discovered, all would be lost.

But if he could at least find proof of Petra's fate, the risk would be worth it, and the peace of mind would be reward enough.

A shining object caught his eye near the destroyed altar of Apollo, which made him frown and kneel to pick it up. What he found, though, hit him hard in the gut with a force that surprised even him.

It was the shell necklace he had bought Petra in Sparta.

He clenched it, almost breaking more of the shells, while looking around desperately. "Petra? Pet?" Haunting memories of another search from years ago filled him, the same adrenaline and panic pumping through his veins as he tried to peer through the dark room.

The Greeks certainly had picked the room clean, he thought as he crawled through the wreckage. None of the valuable stones or gold plating was there anymore, nor were the ceremonial goblets that used to hold Apollo's wine for sacrifices. The statues had cracks and some parts hacked off from blunt swords, some even lying in crumbled heaps.

At least all the dead bodies were gone. From the distance Hector had seen the funeral pyre fires still burning in the fading twilight, an honor that had surprised him from the Greeks.

"_Go home, Prince. Drink some wine, make love to your wife. Tomorrow we'll have our war."_

His hands clenched into fists at the memory of Achilles… the barbarian who simply tsk'ed at Hector's accusations about the Pthian prince's heartless attitude towards battle and the men his Myrmidons had viciously slaughtered in their goal of conquering the beach of Troy.

Everything in him prayed that his sister was safe at least from the hands of that monster, and that she would never need to know that man's touch or cruelty.

"_You must be very brave, or very stupid to come after me alone."_

Hector fought a growl in his throat at the simple arrogance that statement had, remembering with humiliating clarity the interaction between him and Achilles before his prompt dismissal and then finding of Briseis.

"_Perhaps your brother can comfort them. I hear he's good at charming other men's wives."_

_Perhaps_, Hector thought as he sank down onto the ground in dismay, _but you'll never know the pain of watching your brother wish himself dead because of the pain he has brought countless others, Greek. _Just knowing that Paris prepared himself to face Menelaus and challenge him for his right to Helen lowered Hector's already lagging spirit.

He had failed to protect his loved ones, and now he would watch his brother sacrifice himself.

* * *

**Meanwhile **

The sun had started setting more than an hour ago, but Achilles hesitated to walk back to his tent. Petra improved almost immediately from the sunshine and fresh air, looking so happy that Achilles loathed ending their time here.

Petra now walked a few feet in front of him, pausing every once in a while to wade a little in the water up to her knees, not caring about soaking her clothes or getting dirty.

Achilles had to smile the last time she did that. She looked like a child with her pure happiness at the outdoors.

This simplistic yet natural air she possessed charmed him in a way no other woman had; other females had over-compensated their natural looks with expensive garments that men worried about dirtying or styled their hair into unnatural stiff braids that could poke a man's eye out if he wasn't careful.

Instead Petra looked like she spent the majority of her time running around and not caring about whether or not she looked every inch a lady of the courts. It attracted him.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he suddenly missed the wave that splashed next to him and soaked his entire side.

Letting out a surprised roar, he glared at the misfortunate current now trailing back down the sand before hearing laughter ahead of him. He looked up to see Petra's hand cupped over her mouth to hide giggles.

"Laugh at me, will you?" But he grinned back at her.

"I'm not the one that let a wave attack me," she retorted playfully.

She let out a surprised shriek when Achilles suddenly lunged after her, making her take off running down the wet sand with him close behind, nearly at her heels. Hiking her tunic almost up to her knees, she raced down the sands as she had done countless times since childhood.

But this time her breath quickened as she wondered what Achilles would do once he caught her- and she knew that no matter what she would enjoy it.

That last thought made her pause, enough for Achilles to suddenly grab her around the waist and tuck the other arm under her legs, picking her up and twirling her around. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Petra lost herself in the moment and let the fountain of laughter bubble out of her at the sheer joy of the moment.

Achilles felt a warmth spreading through his limbs, one that usually he only felt after a successful bout of lovemaking, but this so much more fulfilling than usual.

And as quickly as it came it was replaced with cold terror when he spotted movement in Apollo's temple, so close to their present location.

"My lord?" Petra noticed his body stilling to a halt and scrambled down, straightening herself and fighting a blush of embarrassment. She had acted so childlike! And with an enemy of her people!

His eyes suddenly met hers with cold blue precision. "Petra, go back to the tent." The words seemed an order, but there was something underlying them that made her spin on her heel and quickly walk back to the Myrmidon's part of the beach with her heart giving loud but slow thumps against her chest.

Reaching for the dagger at his belt Achilles cursed himself for leaving the camp without any other weapon before stealthily walking upwards to the desecrated place of worship.

Whoever was in there did not know the fury of the Lion of the Myrmidons, but would quickly learn it.

* * *

**A/N: **Song is _What Does He Want of Me?_ from Man of LaMancha. 


End file.
